


Letting Things Go

by WithallthisDelusion



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Parenting, Bisexual Mickey Milkovich, Closeted Character, Dark, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gay Bashing, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex, Original Character Death(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Slow Build, Stunt Driver, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithallthisDelusion/pseuds/WithallthisDelusion
Summary: Being a Milkovich man was a tough job, it needed to be dealt with by a strong stomach. Be fearless and yet afraid of the one in control.Mickey Milkovich was born to be hated. With no other option but to cower to his father, before he would become the spitting image of him.He kept up with the Milkovich appearances, slept with the pretty girls, dressed like a thug, did manly things with guns and bikes, and followed Terry’s orders no matter the consequence.He was a pure breed Milkovich in the end.All Milkovich’s were filled with alcohol and bad decisions.~ Or ~The one where Mickey combats with his sexual identity under the control of his father, and Ian struggles with falling for his sister's boyfriend.





	1. Chapter One

 

The stool was hard against Mickey’s arse, almost as hard as the bikes tattered leather cushion had been, as he landed the winning seat grab of the competition. He was drunk. Downing drink after drink as he caught himself falling on the wooden bench that he desperately relied upon. He was ready to head home.

It was the way the Milkovich’s celebrated. Alcohol and bad decisions. Always until the end.

Iggy was running around with Mickey’s stunt bike trophy in hand, trying to win the ladies with it. Then again a local championship trophy was all it took to get into the ghetto girls pants. Iggy was testing that system.

It was working so far for him. Pretending to be Mickey. Mickey wasn’t bother at all, in fact it didn’t bother Mickey as he couldn’t care less. Winning or not, it made no difference to him. He would always leave with someone.

Mickey pushed off against the bench, standing to his feet as he tugged out a new packet of cigarettes from his pocket, making his way out front. He stepped out into the freezing air, letting the door of ‘The Alibi’ close firmly behind. He stumbled forward to the nearest brick wall, barely holding himself up right.

It was there that a reassuring hand pressed to his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, drawing in on himself, the unfamiliar care and watered down booze was suddenly making him feel ill.

“You okay?” The girl asked, keeping her hand firmly placed to his shoulder. Even after he grunted out a response. He shakily lifted the cigarette to his lips and lit up, before turning to fully face her.

He was taken back by her wide eyes. Brown, sad and naturally concerned. Even if she tried not to be. Her lips were quipped up in a smile, focused on his wellbeing before her own. He swallowed down his feeling of nausea, smiling up at her. He balanced his cigarette between his teeth, his blue eyes crinkling. “Mm’ good, yourself?” He asked, holding out his packet for her to take one.

She returned him an open smile, taking a cigarette as he lifted up the lighter for her. She held onto his wrist to hold him steady as she caught onto the light. She look up at him, before tilting her head back exhaling the fumes into the sky above.

It gave Mickey a nice view of her slender neck, and the hollow at the base of her throat. He was stuck at the sight, coughing as he skipped a breath.

She looked back at him with a smirk, “Thanks.” She said, tugging her jacket closer to her chest. “Are you cold? Wanna head inside?” She gestured to the pub’s door.

He sighed out another breath, looking at the fresh frost paving over the pathway. “Uh, just spent three fucking hours drinking away. I’ve had enough beer.”

She let out a laugh, reaching out to causally touch his shoulder and giving it a gently squeeze. Before she brought her hand back to tighten her jacket around herself with a shiver. “Well then, coffee instead?” She offered. He thought it over before nodding and briefly filling his lungs again with the warm smoke.

She was sweet enough, cared enough. He could make that work. “If you would like.” He smiled faintly. They both continued down the same path.

Fiona was glad she only spent 20 minutes getting ready for tonight, as she didn’t even make it past the doors of ‘The Alibi’ before she found someone and joined him for coffee. Probably better that way. She wouldn’t be stuck wiping drool off her chest from the drunken pervs that always watched her in that pub. Even if her two best friends owned it, they couldn’t stop their customer’s drifting gaze.

Mickey and Fiona walked down the street, their steps quick as they tried to keep the chill away from their lower extremities. Fiona was shy as she kept glancing at the man, he had dark hair that was slicked back, yet had fallen loose from his long night.

He caught her staring, giving her the sight of his pale blue eyes, his lips twitched into a skeptical smirk. Unbelieving that a girl was genuinely nervous about being with him. Surely it would be normal to be nervous about his presence, hands tattooed with a ‘FUCK U-UP’, his walked unrelenting with a hard glare. Never afraid to throw the first punch.

But she had offered the company.

They entered the late night coffee shop, ordering two cups as they sat up the back of the cafe. He breathlessly laughed at her disco attire, not fitting the lukewarm chill of the cafe. She shoved him affectionately. “What?” She spat, lightly straightening out her skin tight dress.

“Nothing, dancing queen.” He chuckled, she whacked him on the shoulder before laughing herself.

Mickey looked back up to her, tonguing the side of his lip as he shook his head. “What’s you’re name?” He asked, realising they hadn’t shared any basic knowledge.

Her eyes were shinning with a glint, her nose frost bitten by the cold. “Fiona” She returned, as two cups were placed before them. “Yours?”

“Mickey.” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, tugging off his scarf and clumping the excess of clothing into the seat next to him.

Fiona wrapped her hands around the mug, bringing it into her chest, sighing with comfort. “Aw, this is so good. Heaps better than trying to get guys at that pub.”

He startled her with a loud chuckle, catching himself from knocking the coffee table over as he looked back up at her skeptically. “You were trying to pick up guys?”

She giggled causally slipping a hand to Mickey’s thigh, warming it up with her hand. “Not jealous are you?” She asked, leaning forward as she dropped her eyes to his lips.

He awkwardly chuckled, looking away from her and lifting up his own cup to quickly down the burning fluid. Anything to destroy the moment.

She let her hand fall away, slowly sipping her own drink. They fell into a silence, Mickey staring out the window. As Fiona subtly checked her phone out of familial habit.

Once they finished their coffees they had started another conversation about the profit of having a coffee shop open at 1 am. They couldn’t find any benefit beyond cashing up on two straggling consumers, like themselves.

They felt warmer than before as they stepped out into the cold night once again. “You, uh… wanna come back to mine?” Fiona offered, giving him a hopeful smile. He shoved his hands into his pocket mindlessly tapping at the packet of cigarettes. He rocked back on his heels and let his eyes fall to the space between them.

Mickey hadn’t been with anyone for a while, gone off the monotonous push and drag that was sex. Instead he started finding himself getting into the weird shit. Finding himself coming with the ideas of men, maybe with the real thing every once and a while. He had planned to eventually reinstate his sexual attraction to women.

He licked his lower lip, meeting her eyes. “Sure.”

With a squeal of excitement she wrapped her hands around his arm and dragged him home. Mickey was freaked the fuck out, but didn’t complain at her touch. He knew what was going to happen later needed a lot more touching. An arm he could lose for the walk.

She was sweet, trying to prepare him for the grim reality of her house, telling him that she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a small fire burning downstairs and if her brothers and sisters were standing around cutting up dead animals.

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head at his own similar ghetto lifestyle. They followed the L, Mickey could feel his chest tighten at the familiar slabs of couch and rock that became the hideout for himself as a child. Even nowadays as he ages into an adult.

He was relieved as Fiona turned off the L into a small street with big houses. His own place only a few more streets over along the L.

“Okay, don’t scream if there is a fire.” She joked, raising her finger to her lip in a silencing gesture. He chuckled shaking his head as he took of his jacket outside, knowing it would make scratchy noises if he took it off inside.

She opened the front door, leading him in to the warm heat of her home. She flicked on the light and dropped her bag and jacket by the door. “Want a tea or anything?” She asked, making her way into the kitchen while scooping up various toys along the way.

Mickey stood by the door, staring into her house. Mildly surprised that there were no fires. It had to be a least a home for six, maybe even more on the weekends as multiple personalities tried to claim space around the room.

“Mick?” She asked again, stepping towards him.

He met her eyes, barely noticing her amongst the bright colours of her home. “Hm?” she raised up a cup, “Nah.” He smiled faintly, before thinking. “You got any beer?” He asked, following her into the kitchen, becoming easily distracted by even more that the house had to offer.

She smirked, and opened the fridge. Within a few seconds Mickey had a cooling beer in his hand. He lifted it to his lips and didn’t even breath as he downed in just as fast as he had received it. He would need the alcohol.

She stood back with a grin on her face, clearly impressed by his alcoholism. Ghetto girls, always easy to impress.

“Right then, wanna go upstairs?” She whispered, stepping into his space and holding onto his arms. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what you’ve got on under this.” She playfully grabbed at the woollen fabric of his jumper.

He laughed, resting the empty bottle on the bench, “Skin. Under that blood and bone.” He recounted from previous experience. Her hands tightened around his clothes as she leaned forward, he skillfully turned his head away as her lips pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“Come on then.” She whispered, unhurt by his rejection. She led him up the stairs and to one of the six doors in the open hallway. Piles of clothes and posters filled the corners of the hallway, he caught sight of the familiar ‘Crime Scene Do Not Cross’ tape hanging off from around the door frame. Fiona dragged him into what appeared to be her room, she closed the door behind them.

She easily slipped out of her heels, untying her hair and taking out her earrings. Mickey stood watching her, enjoying the commonness of her actions, a simple beauty that he had forgotten existed beyond the made up falseness of women’s lips and hair, the stiff practiced trace of their hands. Then again the women he normally felt comfortable with were prostitutes. Paid sex without the emotions, no judgement towards his strange questions.

She reached out for him as he stood awkwardly watching her. She peeled off his jumper, groaning frustratedly as he wore a plain singlet underneath. “Layer after layer?” She asked, sitting on the bed and dragging him towards her by his belt loops. He kicked off his boots, and chuckled as she tried to removed her underpants with one hand, underneath her black skin tight dress.

“Lemme’ give you a hand.” He kneeled to the floor in front of her and slipped his hand between her legs, taking off her underwear as they dragged slowly down her smooth skin. He dropped them to the floor as she gave him a grin, reaching forward for him and hauling him onto the bed. Throwing him to his back as she crawled up over him. Her hands traced down his chest, as she bit her lip. She reached out to the front of his pants, quickly undoing his belt and yanking down his zipper.

She pushed away at the thin fabric of his singlet as she lifted it up over his arms and he and push it off from his chest and sat up to throw it to the floor. She worked her way back down from his chest to his stomach, lining his skin with small kisses and bites before her chin bumped the open front of his jeans.

Her eyes cheekily flicked up to his, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric of his waistband as her hand easily tightened around his dick. She only gave him a few strokes before he was groaning and throwing his head back against the pillows. Missing the feel of another’s hand.

She pressed her lips to the head of his dick and lightly licked along the underside. He sighed out heavily as he stared up at the ceiling, wishing to feel the forgotten trace of stubble along his sensitive skin as he closed his eyes, imaging another tasting him.

There was a sudden loud thump from downstairs, Mickey froze as Fiona lifted her head. Wiping the saliva from her mouth. The thump was followed by a crash and a string of swear words. “Shit, wait here.” Fiona whispered as she jumped up to her feet, leaving her room in nothing but the dress she kept on.

Mickey sat up on his elbows staring down at his limping dick.

Downstairs Mickey caught a few words from the young man kicking things around. “Fuck. Bullshit. Absolute wanker. Cunt can’t fucking keep his shit together.” More things crashed as glass shattered and Fiona raised her voice yelling at a man named Ian, claiming that he was drunk and needed to cool off.

A moment later two different patterns of footsteps landed at the top of the stairs, going in separate directions. Fiona entered her room giving Mickey an apologetic smile. “Sorry, my brother Ian. His just upset.” She murmured crawling towards him and fitting her hands towards his dick once again.

“Wait, did you need to talk to him. I can wait.” He offered, touching her hands with his own tattooed fingers, stopping her action.

She thought about it, listening out for Ian but all that was heard was silence. “Nah. He’ll be alright.” She whispered, continuing her strokes down his length. She licked down his shaft, before fitting him into her mouth. She gave him a few strong sucks before lifting her head as her hot breath fanned across his skin.

“I really am sorry.” She said again gloomy, meeting his tired blue eyes.

“It’s fine Fiona.” Mick replied, sitting up and lightly taking her hand away from his dick. “Do you want to… uh, fuck now?”

She giggled at his bluntness, “Such a gentleman.” She turned away from him sitting in between his legs. “Can you unzip me?”

Mickey lifted her hair from her back, folding it over her shoulder as he undid the dress’s zipper, lightly touching the smooth faintly freckled skin of her back as it was revealed. She turned back to face him before smiling at his easy distraction. She stood from the bed and dropped the dress, standing bare before him.

He kicked off his jeans as he moved to allow room for her to join him on the bed. He laid back into the soft cushion. Her hands traced down his chest once again, before pushing down on him and lifting herself up to straddle his thighs, perfectly aligning their hips together.

He gritted his teeth, groaning at her certain touch. She smiled down at him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. He quickly grabbed her shoulders holding her away. “You got a condom?” He asked, meeting her eyes.

“Yeah.” She remembered, slipping off from him and going to her bedside table, she fished out the tiny packet and tore it open. “You want me to?” She offered.

“Blokes job isn’t it?” He asked, bringing out a smile from her lips. She threw the condom at him as he easily slipped it on himself.

She straddled his thighs once again, grabbing his dick and positioning it at her entrance. She tried to hold his eyes as she sat down, bringing his heat into her body. She sighed out, letting her eyes fall shut as she raised herself off him before dropping herself down once again.

Mickey shut his eyes tightly, trying to find the peaceful bliss of a past lovers touch. Her hands pushed off his stomach, allowing her to control the pace. She sped it up, eliciting a deep groan from Mickey’s throat.

Her breath was sharp as she clawed at his skin, reaching out for his hands as she placed them over her breast. He cringed at the touch. She easily misunderstood it for the overwhelming experience of sex.

He tried to picture the sight of his dick going into another man, hearing deep growls and feeling the rough trace of calloused fingers reaching out for him. Gripping the short strands of hair and pushing in harder and faster.

She was beginning to whimper, nearing her orgasm as he gripped her hips, pumping strong thrusts up into her.

Mickey let his eyes fall open, watching her teeth as they dragged along her bottom lip. Her chest bouncing before him. He had to close his eyes to cum, picturing a man’s blissed face and stern body moving above him. Tracing his fingers along his back, clenching into the muscle and roughly dragging them closer and closer with each thrust until they were both buried deep within each others elation.

He rolled her onto the bed as he leaned over her, giving her quick hard thrusts. She cried out as she came, Mickey continued working himself through her orgasm as he roughly finished himself off with the inapt thought of a dick up his arse.

He groaned loudly filling the condom and keeping his eyes shut, lost in his own perfect thought. Before he pulled out and lied on his back next to her. He let his eyes slowly slip open as he tried not to let the feeling of guilt overcome him.

“Wow, fantastic.” She sighed out, “Want a cigarette?” She asked, fishing for his jeans on the floor, before pulling out his own packet of cigarettes.

“Sure.” He mumbled running a hand down his face and taking off the condom, tying it up and binning it.

They both lit up their cigarettes, taking in the warming heat as their skin began to cool off. “Yeah, I’ve had better.” She stated, giving him a few moment to panic before turning to face him. “Joking.” She giggled knowing it meant the world to men to have the best cock. 

“Eh, don’t care. No matter how many before me or after me. I just hope that you keep getting fucked.” He shrugged breathing out a cloud of smoke.

She rolled to her side fully facing him, he tried to ignore the burning feel of her stare. She was over thinking their time together. Her staring had gone on for too long, making the man uncomfortable as he tilted his head to return the glare. “What?” He stated.

“How are you so… laid back.” She wondered, tracing a hand over his chest.

He chuckled, wiping a tired hand down his face. “We just fucked, I’m exhausted.” He explained, drawing in another deep breath.

She rolled off the bed to stand and slip on her underpants before crawling back into bed. “Okay, you’re welcome to stay the night, or the rest of the day.” She added glancing at the alarm clock next to her bed. “I’ve got kids heading out to school early in the morning and then at lunchtime I’m free if you wanted to hang out more, or you just wanted to disappear forever, that’s okay too.” She smiled. Knowing most men chose to run.

Mickey flicked the ash off from his cigarette, nodding. “Cheers, simple enough. I’ll see what I feel up to in the morning.” He drew in another deep breath and stubbed the smoke out in an ashtray, before closing his eyes and easily falling asleep.

Fiona shook her head, stubbing out her own and pulling the blankets over each other. She made sure to keep him warm, as she curled up to his side, resting her head on is arm. She easily drifted to sleep listening to his faint intake of breaths before slowly releasing them. Enjoying the non-pressuring presence laying next to her.

 


	2. Chapter Two

 

A sharp ear piercing pain was echoing around the room. It had Mickey flinching as he was startled awake, automatically reaching for the handgun underneath his pillow before finding it bare underneath. He stared around the room in front of him, confused.

He looked at the colourful scarfs hanging from the door and various bits of shit that were clearly feminine spread along cupboards and shelfs. He then noticed the pile of clothes, his own clumped lazily to the side. He felt the bed shift beside him as Fiona curled up further towards his side. Her chest was bare, as the memory of them having sex had him feeling ill again. He should have drunk more.

He was amazed that she slept through at least eight rings of the alarm, before he shut it off. Throwing himself back to bed and trying to steady his sped up heart rate.

He was woken up again only a few minutes later to a young girl bursting into the room. “Fiona!” She shouted. Fiona jumped awake her hair mattered to the side and her face covered by smudges of left-on makeup.

“Debbie, what the hell?” She sat up pulling the sheets up to cover herself. Mickey didn’t bother lifting his head from the pillow as he pretended to sleep.

“Whose that?” The girl asked, clearly taken a back by the sight of a man asleep in her sister’s bed.

“None of your business Debbie. Please get out.” Fiona groaned frustratedly.

“Were late for school.” Debbie shot out, before slamming the door shut on her way out. Fiona ran a hand through her hair at a weak attempt to straighten it before she caught sight of the alarm clock reading that school started in 10 minutes.

“Fuck!” She spat standing up and hurriedly tugging on jeans and shuffling through different items of clothings. Before finding Mickey’s singlet and slipping it on as a final option. 

Mickey sat up watching her fuss around her room. “You alright, need a hand?” He asked. She turned to him, chilling for a moment as she gave him a friendly calming smile.

“Nah, I’m okay, just gotta get the kids out the door.” With a final gesture at the door she slipped outside, leaving a slim gap in the door, that echoed the loud voices downstairs. Keeping him up.

He sat up, rubbing at his face and sighing out deeply. He reached out for the packet of cigarettes, desperately lighting up as he stood, scooping up his pants and slipping them on. He had no shirt, just a jumper. He slipped his arms inside and zipped it halfway up.

He opened the door and walked out, exhaling the warm fumes as he turned down the hall, lightly pushing open every door until he found the bathroom. He used it quickly and washed his hands before heading down the stairs to see Fiona with a young black kid balanced on her hip. She was scooping pancakes out of a frypan and placing them onto tissues and handing them to three awaiting kids and shooting daggers at the one sitting down at the table doing school work.

Mickey blinked, not sure whether Fiona called them kids as a way to show their age, or that they were actually her kids. Mickey didn’t mind dating a girl with kids, it would mean that they had less reason to bang.

“Mickey.” Fiona smiled, giving him a brief look before handing out paper bags. “Uh, this is Mickey.” She addressed to her family as Mickey was greeted by five stern eyes. “We met last night.”

“Hey.” He huffed out a response ignoring their peering eyes as he put the cigarette back between his teeth. Comfortably continuing his way into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. He downed the glass and pushed it to the sink as he released a long breath, gripping the sides of the counter. He looked up as he was joined by an unexpected silence. Everyone was staring at him.

“So this is Liam.” Fiona started breaking the awkward silence by raising the little black boy’s hand to wave at him before turning to address the others. “Debbie, who you met earlier.” Her eyes were wide, watching him. “Carl.” Was staring at his hand tattoos with a slight goofy grin. “Ian.” She gestured to a red head, who watched him with dark hooded eyes. He looked good, but annoyed. Mickey made sure to keep his gaze quick and only on his face, before moving onto the last one at the table. “Lip.” The boy eyed him suspiciously.

“Go. School. Now!” Fiona urged, pushing the kids out the door. Once the door slammed shut behind Debbie, Carl and Ian, she turned back to face Mickey with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, they don’t normally meet the people I sleep with.” She whispered, continuing to make pancakes. “Hungry?” She asked.

Mickey shrugged, “Sure, if you’ve got enough.” He out out the cigarette and took a seat at the table facing the eldest son. “Hey Lip.” He greeted giving him a nod.

He gave him a short smile, nodding in return, “Hey Mick.” He grunted before continuing to shuffle around papers that were scattered around the table.

Fiona made pancakes and then sat down next to Mickey, she looked good when she was relaxed, wearing his shirt, instead of dressing up.

“I’ve got work tonight.” He let her know, eating away at the pancake. She nodded pouring syrup luxuriously over her pancake.

“No worries, me too, after the kid’s school I gotta’ head off. Wanna do something before hand? We can head to the shops, buy groceries?” She asked. Taking a bite of the tough pancake.

He gave her an incredulous look, as Lip bursted out a chuckle, meeting his sisters eye. “You can’t seriously think that’s a fun way to spend the day?” Lip asked.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Fine, want to come meet some of my friends?” She offered. Quickly filling in. “Actually, you’ve probably already met them, they own the pub ‘The Alibi’.”

Mickey nodded, finishing off his pancake as he stood taking his plate to the kitchen. “I’m not bothered, just gotta be home by 5.” He filled up another glass of water and downed it quick.

Fiona stood following him into the kitchen. She rested her hands to his hips and pressed her hips against his. “I’m glad you stayed this morning.” She whispered, leaning forward. He looked away from her, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, no problem.” He offered, tilting his head so she wouldn’t try and kiss him.

“Everything okay?” She asked him, noticing his withdrawal. “You don’t have to stay here. You can go home and whatever. I don’t mind.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t mind a shower, but I can do that at my place if you prefer.” He said, folding his arms at his chest.

“No, not at all. Please, feel free to.” She smiled, placing a hand to his shoulder and kissing his cheek. “Upstairs on the left.”

He stepped back from her, “I’ll need my shirt back.” He joked, she blushed nervously touching the thin material between her fingertips.

“Oh, I can get you a clean shirt. I’m sure Lip won’t mind.” She wondered turning to face her brother at the table. 

“Yeah uh, I ain’t got anything over here. I’ve only got my washing to do from UNI. It all stinks. Sorry mate.” He apologised, barely looking up from his school notes. Mickey smirked at the kid, surprised to hear a ghetto kid at university. There is hope after all.

Fiona frowned slightly, “Well I’m sure Ian won’t mind.” She smiled as she led him up the stairs and into the boys room with the ‘Crime Scene’ tape, a dark room tightly shared between three. She opened a draw to the left and pulled out various shirts. She found a simple dark green t-shirt. “Here.” She offered, before taking him back to the main hall and opening the bathroom door. “See you when you’re done.”

Mickey closed the door behind himself as he unzipped his jumper and kicked off his jeans. He turned on the shower and unexpectedly laughed at the icy cold water that spat out at him. It was just like home. He slipped under the spray, washing his face and down his stomach.

It felt good to clean off after a long two days of hacking meat, stunt driving and then fucking someone. Mickey was freezing as he stepped out, wiping the water off his body with a towel that he found on the floor. He then slipped back into his same underpants and jeans but wore Ian’s shirt. It was a little tight and long, but it smelt good.

Mickey found Fiona cleaning up her room. His boots and socks were neatly shoved to the side as her clothes were displayed out on the bed. She was neatly folding them in the cupboard. “Oh, jeez you were quick.” She stated, embarrassed about her messy room.

“Yeah the shower was fucking freezing.” He chuckled, folding up his jumper and dropping it next to his boots.

She chuckled, “Sorry about that.” She scooped up the clothes on her bed up into her arms and began to shove them back into her draws.

“If you wanna tidy up that’s cool.” He offered, picking up his socks and slipping his frozen feet inside.

“Are you heading off?” She asked, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. She continued to mess up her cupboard. “We can head off if you like?”

“Chill, my feet are just freezing. Take you’re time. I might go back to sleep.” He murmured, taking the free space on her bed and closing his eyes. She watched him easily fall back to sleep. She took everything out of her cupboards and started to re-organise it again. Enjoying her sleeping companion.

Mickey woke up again at 4pm, he was startled awake by his own nightmares. He looked around the room confused once again before he recognised Fiona’s style. He stood from the bed, alone in the room.

He picked up his boots on his way out, descending the stairs as he hiked up his shoes. He looked up to see the kids back at home. Debbie had wide eyes avoiding him spaciously as Carl watched his every move. God the kids looked savage, only being held back by an unseen harness.

Ian was frozen stiff by the kitchen bench, looking at Mickey’s chest. Mickey had to looked down at himself to see what his problem was. It was then that the unfamiliar weight of the kids t-shirt pressed down against his shoulders. He was still wearing Ian’s shirt.

“Shit, man. Sorry. Fiona offered me a shirt, I can give it back to you.” He began, dropping his jumper to the floor and peeling off the thin fabric, he chucked it at the frozen boy before slipping his jumper on over his bare chest. He zipped it up halfway as he moved to the lounge room, continuing his search for Fiona.

“You know where Fiona is?” He asked the kids in the kitchen. Ian was staring down at his shirt in hands, as Carl was downing the orange juice from the carton.

“Work, maybe.” Debbie offered moving around him to head up the stairs. Mickey stood awkwardly swinging his hands before clapping them together. He moved back into the kitchen, meeting Ian’s eyes.

“Uh, can you give Fiona a message?” He asked.

Ian shrugged shoving his shirt into his school bag and turning to face him. The boy didn’t look happy, in fact he looked pissed. Mickey remembered that he was the one being loud and angry last night. “You alright?” Mick asked, taking a step forward.

Ian nodded stepping back, “You can send her a text if you like.” He stated, handing his phone over with Fiona’s contact up.

“Yeah, alright.” Mickey agreed, grabbing the mobile and typing out a message. ‘ _Thanks for the company, give me a call if I’m ever worth another night._ ’ Then he left a strand of his own digits. He handed it back to Ian unsent. “Great, might see you again.” He shrugged, turning from the kitchen and leaving their home.

Mickey missed Ian’s observant eyes, watching the way he walked as he left, all until he heard the slam of his front door. Then he hurriedly read and re-read over the message to his sister. The boy was thinking of deleting the message, normally would. But the thought of never seeing Mickey again had his stomach clenching. He sent the message. Coping Mickey’s number into his own phone.

He went up stairs, pulling the shirt out of his bag and bringing it to his nose, loving the smell that it had. He quickly threw it to his bed along with his school bag and left the house, heading off to work at the ‘Kash and Grab’.

Mickey lived only 10 minutes away, following the L. He shoved open his front door, overwhelmed by the toxic smell of booze. Iggy had three girls pawing at his chest as he pinched at their waists. The successful trophy sat proud on the coffee table.

Mickey continued through to his room, it remained empty which he was thankful for after seeing both of his brothers going at it in there.

He slipped off his jumper and found one of his own shirts to wear. He was pulling it over his head as the door swung open, Iggy was standing there zipping up his jeans. “Good you’re here. We’ve gotta head off now. Terry said he’ll meet us at the factory. So, uh… yeah. Your driving.” He turned and left Mickey.

Mickey pulled open his draws and grabbed a pistol, slipping it into the front waistband of his jeans. He then continued out of the house with a distracted Iggy in tow. “Hey Mick, you mind if we drop these girls off at the train station?” He questioned, trying to keep up the kisses they were planting to his neck.

“Yeah, whatever.” Mickey grunted, as he sat in the drivers seat. He began to hear trouble in paradise as Iggy was arguing with the girls, struggling to move them in the car. They were questioning who he was, after bedding the one they thought was Mickey.

Eventually Iggy joined him in the passenger seat as Mickey’s other brother, the slow straggler Chris burst out from the front door and slipped into the seat next to the three girls. Awkwardly fitting in the back.

The girls were spitting at Iggy all throughout the trip, before Mickey pulled up to the train station just further down the road. “Get the fuck out.” He spat, gripping the steering wheel tighter as they took their time to leave.

Mickey sped off as soon as the door slammed shut, moving quickly towards the factory.

 


	3. Chapter Three

 

Blood was neatly splashed out along the concrete floor, pooling thickly around the legs of the chair that balanced above the drain. The body was limp, barely functioning, only managing to squirt enough blood through the man’s stump arm to ease Terry’s twitching need to cut off another body part.

Mickey entered, pushing light into the dim lit factory. His father was leaning into the man’s face, threatening the poor fucker with a blade which was catching the new let in light. Stirring a low frantic whimper from the man.

“Terry, what the fuck?” Mickey spat, moving towards the bleeding out Hispanic fella.

“Sorry son, couldn't wait.” He gritted through his teeth, eyes glinting with excitement at the dying man. “This queer fucker here wasn’t saying a thing.” He chuckled, “Had to get him screaming, begging...” He let the thought drift as his intimidation had the man flinching with whatever futile strength he had left.

Mickey swallowed thickly at the slur, “Yeah, well. Get it over with, and we’ll drop the body.” Mickey finished, untying his scarf from around his neck and dropping it by the door, before slipping out of his jacket and jumper, leaving him in a long sleeve shirt that he rolled up to his elbows.

Terry stepped back, removing himself from the body. He swung the knife towards Iggy and Chris who jumped at the metal shank that scattered towards them. “Finish him off, will ya?” Terry spat, hauling himself towards Mickey as they worked together to lay out the plastic sheets.

The bone saw was plugged in well before the man released his final breath, Chris was frowning as he watched his older brother Iggy plunge the knife deep into the man’s fleshy stomach. Mickey caught Chris staring on fearfully. Not daring to end the man’s life. Mickey hoped Terry wouldn’t notice his young son’s resistance to murder. He wasn’t broken at birth, like Mickey, meaning it would always be harder to mend the fracture at an older age.

Mickey’s half brothers weren’t always raised to be killers, they had a mother figure for a few years, unlike Mickey and his sister Mandy. They were the only pure product of Terry’s parenting. Although Mandy is the Milkovich showgirl. She wouldn’t kill, instead she helped with the bigger jobs. The ones that required finesse.

Being a Milkovich man was a tough job, needed to be dealt with by a strong stomach. Be fearless and yet afraid of the one in control. Mickey was terrified of his father Terry, the man was butch, verging on the perfect image of a neo-Nazi.

So Mickey kept up respected appearances, slept with the pretty girls, dressed like a thug, did manly things with guns and bikes, and followed Terry’s orders no matter the consequence.

He carried the man limb by limb, dropping the stumps into the boot of the car and duct taping the tops of garbage bags. He made his father proud, proud to call his kids the spitting image of himself. All matching with the pathetic tattoos on their hands, giving off the best impression they could ever give. ‘FUCK U-UP’. Mickey hated it, but knew it was never an option to avoid.

He was a pure breed Milkovich in the end, and forever. So hauling the dead body bits were nothing more than a weekend job, a quick buck. Nothing to think over.

Mickey dropped the garbage bags over a cliff, ushering Terry, Chris and Iggy back in the car as they sped off back home. It was nearing to the early hours of daylight as Mickey pulled up to the curb. Terry stayed in the car, needing a lift to the pub. Iggy and Chris jumped out quick, fearful to spend another minute next to Terry.

Mickey dropped Terry off at ‘The Alibi’, watching as he walked through the door. Mickey remembered the last time he was standing outside the pub was where he met Fiona. He smiled at the thought of the night, he enjoyed spending time with her. But he wasn’t in any rush to see her again, not planning to go and serenade outside her house or beg why she hadn’t messaged back.

Mickey returned home, only stopping by to ditch the car before he took the motorbike out for a spin. He went to the forgotten slums, a place were there were abandoned trucks that had planks of wood leaned against their bonnets. It was a good space to practice his stunts. Not that he cared much for the practice, more to break out the new ideas in the running up days to his competition, or to clear his head.

It was the only freedom he was allowed in his life, the few moments he had spinning, pushing off the bike and letting himself fall without a guaranteed landing. Normally he would fuck it up, to be honest. But every now and then he would land it and it would perfect.

But then it would be expected that he could nail the trick each time, resulting in disappointing everyone anyway.

Mickey sped off towards the ramp, his helmet was firmly tightened around his neck as he pushed off the bending timber board. He was taken in up the air as he kicked himself back, managing to grab the seat as he stared down at the shattered gravel of rock below him. He quickly tugged himself forward, just in time to press himself on the seat, before landing on the ramp and skidding against the gravel to a slowdown.

It had his heart racing, it allowed his basic survival instinct to kick, none of the tedious fear that Terry installed in him. It was life or death, simple, not the fear of being disrespected or disowned. There was none of that bullshit to worry about when he was caught up in the air, with no way to land beyond the sudden impact or the slim chance to grab his motorcycle to pull him down.

Mickey lined the bike up again at the ramp, planning out a spin, by tail flipping the steering wheel and pushing it through with his body weight. He was feeling a little too eager to achieve the trick as he went full speed, hitting the ramp with all that he had. He was thrown up into air as he spiraled with the bike, as he took the turn, he knew that he was overcompensating, already spinning well beyond the limit as he landed the trick on a bent wheel.

He was thrown off the bike, scattered down the ramp and dropped a few meters to the rough gravel on the floor. He had clipped his shoulder of the ledge, heavily bruising his skin and tearing at the muscle. He clamped a hand over the violated arm. “Fuck.” He gritted behind his teeth, as everything fell quiet. He stared up at the burning morning sky above.

He found the bike under a nearby truck after catching his breath and managing to heave himself up on his feet. The paint job was nicely scratched, the plastic features peeling off, and the wheel was completely fucked.

Nonetheless, Mickey flipped his leg over the edge of the seat and gently rode back home. Making sure to hold his arm in a stiff position, feeling it grate over the bone as he rode over bumps and pulled at the tense stretch of muscle. It was stinging like a bitch.

He kicked the front door open of his house, Mandy was just waking up, making coffee. “Morning Mick, wanna coffee?” She asked, before looking up to see the pain written all over his face.

“What the fuck happened?” She panicked, moving towards him and reaching out for his arm.

“Shit, don’t touch.” He spat, hurriedly removing his shoulder from her sight. She frowned at him but raised her hands in defeat. Cautiously Mickey removed his jacket and tried to raise his shoulder, finding it bleaching into a deep ugly purple bruise. “Fuck, you reckon it’s broken?” He asked, looking to his sister as she stood nervously biting her nail.

She nodded, grimly reaching his eye. “Need me to drive you to the hospital? I think we might be able to afford-”

“Fuck that.” Mickey spat. He let his arm drop like normal, holding back the cruel string of swearwords he desperately wanted to shout out. “Just strap it or some shit.”

Mandy got a bandage from the bathroom cupboard, meeting Mickey back in the lounge room as she wrapped the stretchy material over his shoulder and under his elbow, bringing it tightly into his chest. “Thanks.” He muttered, closing his eyes and regretting the chance to ride this morning. He was too tired to concentrate.

He pushed off from the couch and slumped into bed, opening the packet of cigarettes with one hand and accidentally flicking the packet on the floor as he lit it up and desperately drew in a deep breath. He chucked the lighter away as well, knowing there was no chance of picking it up off the floor with his aching shoulder.

He fell asleep with the litter of ash drifting over his fingers and a burning hole in his mattress.

Terry wasn’t anything less than pissed. He got home around midday from the pub, pushing into Mickey’s room and startling him awake by yanking his arm to stare at the dark bruising. “Fucking hopeless.” Terry grumbled, “Wanna be a cripple. For fucksakes.” He had Mickey panting, freaking out as he tore off the bandaging and pressed his fingers into his son’s tender muscle. “You’ll fucking live.”

Mandy was standing by the doorframe, holding her voice as she wanted to tell her father to piss off, let him sleep and give him time to heal. But she wouldn’t dare speak up. Not without facing the reality that no matter how much her father respected women to not throw a punch her way, he wouldn’t hesitate to slap her if she stood out of line.

Maintenance the traditional Milkovich’s knew it as.

Terry slammed his hand into the hallway outside Mickey’s room as he angrily left his damaged son. “Fucking bullshit.” Terry needed his son this week, a new job had just come up that he couldn’t make himself. He needed Mickey to catch some slimy fuck and cut him up. It needed to be achieved with efficiency not the incompetent level bullshit his other son’s were capable of.

Mandy quickly joined Mickey by the bed, slipping the bandage around his arm and carefully positioning it on his chest. “Fucking wanker.” Mick spat out, clenching his teeth as it felt as if the bone had dislodge and clipped on a nerve.

“His just worried about you.” Mandy supplied, filled with complete delusion. Mickey smirked shaking his head, he had an extra year on Mandy, he knew his father never experienced a worry beside that which disrupted his ability of a financial gain. Much like the inconvenience of needing to care for a ‘cripple’. Even though he could easily care for himself, he has never needed his father, or would he ever put himself in a position where he would need him.

It was only for a few nights that Mickey was out of work before Iggy and Chris were heavily prepared with how to catch the next fucker. Simple steps that they could easily understand. Still Terry doubted their ability and forced Mickey to tag along nevertheless, as he himself was out of town that weekend. Mickey was sitting in the car at an old night club upstate, watching as Iggy asked the man hanging loosely by a group of friends for a lighter.

The man was a short blonde fellow, he wore a suit, yet didn’t knock back Iggy as he wore his trashy ghetto gear. Instead he smiled and easily listened to his request. Once he lifted out the lighter Chris bumped into him, knocking it from his hand and kicking it out onto the road, near the car.

“My bad.” He grunted giving the target a long look up and down. Iggy slipped the cigarette he was holding behind his ear as he watched the man move towards the street, bending over to pick up his lighter just as Chris opened the door and Iggy gripped his arms to heave him inside the awaiting car. Mickey turned the ignition and with one hand shifted it into gear and tried to speed off as fast as he could.

The factory was cold as Chris and Iggy dropped the body into the steel chair. He was shivering, shaking with fear as tears spilled over his eyes. Mickey lit up a cigarette watching as Iggy and Chris passed each other different cable tires, attempting to tie the man to the seat.

Once the man was stuck and sobbing into the empty night, Iggy slipped the knife into Mickey’s hand, taking a large step back. Mickey shrugged as he brought out a tablet from his pocket on a stainless steel table. Without Terry watching over him, he easily roofied the man, as he slipped into a peaceful sleep. Well… at least his body wasn’t reacting at Mickey hacked off different limbs and dragged the sod bit by bit into the boot of the car.

Mickey was feeling the strain against his other shoulder, needing to compensate as the muscle ached with the extra load. He drove to the cliff, kicking the bags of body off once again. Chris and Iggy remained in the car, shivering as the cold night soaked into the plastic acrylic leather car seats.

Mickey was sick of the work, he didn’t want to hack into young eager bodies anymore. He was sick of stopping them from experiencing the world. Milkovich’s only ever took them from it.

He kicked Iggy and Chris out of the car, slipping inside the house himself to briefly shower and wash the blood out from underneath his fingernails before he tugged on a nice shirt and left once again. Walking to the L as he caught a train out of town.

He felt a tingling sense of fear run up his neck as he stepped into the warm atmosphere of the club. It was darkly lit, allowing Mickey to hide his face from those that leaned in too close. The music was heavy yet light, making everything seem like a good decision that would always lead to bad consequences.

He ordered a drink, scrapping up the few remaining coins in his pocket just to afford the cheapest liquor he could pay for. There were men and women dancing to the loud music. They’re hands drifting below shirts and skirts. Mickey sipped his drink, wanting to spit it straight out at its burning acidity. Petrol tasted better. Although maybe he had forgotten its taste as it had been ages since the last time he actually huffed petrol.

He stood, leaving the drink on the bench as he moved closer to the floor. He made sure to step carefully so no one would bump into his arm. He was avoided like the plague. Perhaps it was the dark haunting Milkovich image that kept everyone away.

He rocked to the music, closing his eyes and trying to remove the sight of blood and guts splattered against the concrete floor of the factory from his mind. It was hard to see himself without blood dripping from his fingertips, scrapping up every last bit of person that remained.

He needed to be free for tonight, once in a blue moon he would escape his neighbourhood. Venture out into the wild and feel those privileged bodies that had an education and good credit score. Not that he cared for those bits, he cared more about the lack of expectations for his own shitty life. Sure he already filled out the ghetto stereotype, a couple years of prison and ‘FUCK U’ tattoos. What else could make him anymore fucked up.

That’s right. His self hatred.

He continued throughout the night, he was beginning to fall asleep as he leant against a booth, staring down at the dancing bodies below. He had finally managed to enjoy the taste of the alcohol surrounding him as he picked up those forgotten drinks of the dancers. Downing four or five different drinks.

He hardly reacted as a firm hand pushed against his shoulder and lips quickly pressed to his cheek. He lazily smiled turning to face the young eager gentleman before him. He swallowed thickly, landing his eyes on the rough stubble lining his sharp jaw. “Fuck off.” Mickey spat, his heart not backing up his quiet voice.

“Want a drink, Handsome?” The man offered, his own breath soaked with enough alcohol for two. Mickey shook his head, turning away before falling forward and being caught by the man’s strong firm arm around his waist.

“I’m wasted.” He tried to explain to the stranger. Breathing in deep breathes to keep his eyes focused on dark brown eyes that crinkled at him.

“Want a place to crash?” The man offered instead, easily accepting Mickey’s weight as he wrapped another arm around his shoulders and brought him closer into his broad chest.

“If it’s yours.” Mickey stated, pushing off from the booth as he was led out the front door. Mickey dropped his hands from the man as they both slipped into a taxi, he hoped he wasn’t expected to pay for the trip as it went for a while. Maybe it was the tedious wait that had Mickey getting nervous as he scratched at his neck.

He tried to convince himself that he was too drunk and out of it to know what he was doing. He wasn’t attracted to the man, he was merely desperate for a fuck. Anyone one would do. He wasn’t concentrating. Couldn’t noticing the thick muscle the encased the man next to him.

But the lies were deeper than that.

Mickey was quick to jump out of the taxi as it stopped at the man’s house. Mickey only waited a few seconds, while bouncing on his toes before he was following the man upstairs to his nice apartment.

The thought of drug money ran once through Mickey’s mind before being forgotten as the man’s hands snuck around his hips, drawing him into his tough body.

“Come on, love.” He whispered into his ear. Mickey yanked his hand off of him, shoving him away.  
“Don’t you dare fucking love me.” He bit back venomously. His shoulder raised in defense as the weight of the situation was becoming more and more clearer. The man nodded, confused as he took a step back before gesturing at his place.

“You still want to fuck?” He asked bluntly.

Mickey blinked, taken back by his straight offer. He couldn’t deny the settling heat in his stomach at the implication. Mickey only swallowed as he forgot the reality of his statement, mindlessly continuing to follow the man upstairs into his room.

The man stripped off of his jacket, dropped his shirt and yanked off his belt. Standing bare before Mickey, all too quickly for him to second guess what he was doing with the man.

The man was lazily tracing his hands along Mick’s chest, tugging at the nicest shirt he owned. “Fits you well.” He purred, pressing lightly along his stomach as his hand subtly dropped to his belt and zipper. His eyes flicked up to Mick’s, glinting with lust. The man expertly one-handedly unzipped Mickey’s jeans and dropped them to the floor. He gave Mickey a smirk as he moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, before tugging it off from his arms, carefully grabbing his wrist to hold up his strained shoulder, before letting it gently rest at his side.

Mickey stood uncomfortably bare before the stranger, as he didn’t relent his gaze as it stared up and down his scratched up and bruised body.

He licked his lips, causing Mickey’s dick to twitch in interest, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed. The man stepped forward, placing his hands along Mick’s bare chest, feeling his tense muscles underneath his palms. He leant up to push a kiss to Mickey’s jaw before Mick turned away, letting the man lick along his skin and laugh huskily into his ear. “Call me Sam.” He whispered, sending tingles along Mickey’s spine.

Mickey swallowed nervously, surely Sam could be a girls name too. The thought died as Sam dropped to his knees before Mick.

His hand easily took Mick’s dick and brought it into his mouth. Mickey was caught off guard as he ran his hands through the short dark hair before him. He bit his lip sighing out as Sam traced his tongue expertly along the head of his dick.

But Mickey had had a blowjob before, he wanted something different, the one thing that only a man could offer him. He heaved at the short clipping of hair at the bottom of Sam’s neck as he forced him to stare up into his eyes. “Take me from behind.” He directed, releasing the soft strands of hair and swiftly moving to lie down on his stomach on the bed.

Sam chuckled as he gathered the stuff, before Mick felt the bed dip as he crawled up behind him. Mickey didn’t want to think about what was happened as he heard the click of lube snap shut. Then the warm trace of Sam’s hand along his back before cold wet fingers intruded his arse. He clenched his eyes shut as the rough stick and drag of the man’s fingers opened him up.

He wasn’t sure when he started grunting at each thrust of the man’s fingers. But soon he was unable to contain the desperate moans that egged Sam on. The man easily rolled on a condom and pressed himself against Mickey’s hips, letting his dick slip up along his crack.

Mick muffled a plea into the soft pillows below him. “Just do it already.” He spat, hating the sound of his voice. He had never needed to ask for sex before, but something like this that was so pathetic had to be done hard and fast. Not with reverence, that would just cause more regret.

Sam pressed a kiss to Mick’s shoulders, tracing his skin with his tongue before he withdrew his hips and raised Mick’s waist to easily allow him to push inside. Fitting tightly into his arse. Mick gritted his teeth at the burning stretch, it slowly filled him up as Sam made sure to be fully seated within Mickey’s arse before he pulled out to start up his repetitive motion.

Mickey was panting by the time that Sam set up a rapid hard rhythm, he could feel his cock leak at the feel of a dick up his arse. He had to hold himself upright with one arm on the bedhead as the other remained useless by his side, still healing since his accident.

He wanted to slam back on the man’s cock, taking him deeper and have him screaming, but he didn’t trust his arm, the thrumming alcohol in his veins and the adrenaline to hold himself steady for long.

Sam set up a brutal pace, pulling and pushing his dick in and out of Mick’s arse. His hot breath was fanning across his neck as his hands tightly gripped his hips, forcing them to move back into each thrust.

Mick wished he could see the man’s face, watch as his body contracted and relax with each strong movement. But feeling him hammer into is arse was enough in the end. He could hear the man groaning, bringing out each breath with a tight hiss.

Mickey almost lost it then as Sam slipped a hand around his waist and tugged at his straining cock. “Need a hand.” He chuckled, knowing that Mickey couldn’t jerk himself off since his arm was occupied holding himself steady.

“Fuck me.” Mickey bit out, resting his head back as Sam took strong slow strokes down his dick, completely different to the brutal pace of his thrusting hips. Mickey gritted out a grunt at the feeling. He was going to cum, he let go of the bed head as he fitted his own tattooed hand over Sam’s. He sped up the pace, leaning back heavily onto his broad chest. It kept him upright as Sam didn’t relent on his dick, using Mickey’s own pre-cum to slicken each stroke.

It was all too much. Sam slipped his other hand to Mickey’s non-injured shoulder, allowing him to hold him closer and brutally snap his hips up into his tight arse.

Mickey came with a groan, squirting his load over the man’s bed sheets. He didn’t even feel guilty as he shut his eyes nearly coming again as he felt Sam’s own hot load release into his arse. The man pulled out quick, rolling onto his back as Mickey remained kneeling on the bed savouring the brief relief. Before he opened his eyes to see the man lying relaxed and staring up at him with a smile on his face.

Jesus fucking Christ. He stared down at the man. A fucking man. A guy with a huge dick. A dick that was just up his arse.

Mick was quick to push off from the bed, hurriedly slipping into his pants and shoving his arms through the shirt, even bending his sore shoulder to sped up the process. “Hey, you can stay. There’s no rush to leave.” Sam said, sitting up and chucking the condom to the floor as he watched Mickey panic. Sam was hoping the man would crawl back into bed and let his arms fold around him.

“I’m not a fucking faggot.” He spat behind his teeth, hating the way it sounded from his well fucked out voice. It made sense to Sam.

“Well you sure took my dick like one.” Sam chuckled, leaning back in bed as he watched Mickey’s fearful eyes, before he stepped out of the room and stomped out the front door without another word disappeared completely.

Mickey was shaking, his arse hurting but he enjoyed the pain. He would never admit it, but he was feeling rightfully fucked, both in a good way and a bad.

He took the L home, making it past the door just after 4 am. Everyone was asleep as he slipped into the shower, washing the lube and cum out from his arse. He fell into bed, still feeling sore and exhausted.

A heavy feeling rested in his gut, but it was bearable for once as he re-lived the memories of the man’s hand over his body. Mickey splayed his own hand along his chest, where Sam’s hand had been. He blinked himself asleep, trying to imagine warm arms encircling his waist and holding onto him. 

 


	4. Chapter Four

 

A week later Mickey was fast asleep lying on his side in his room.

His face was screwed up, trying to fend off the monsters in his nightmares. Mandy slowly pushed into his bedroom around 5 in the afternoon. She was leant over the bed, shaking his shoulder lightly and calling his name.

Mickey could only see the searing metal inch closer and closer towards him, above was the booming laughter of his father. The red hot metal touched his shoulder and burnt through his arm, dropping the limb as he tried to catch it. He jumped awake catching his sister’s hand and tightly indenting his fingertips into her wrist.  
  
“Woah, Mick you’re hurting me.” She grumbled, quickly twisting her hand out of his grip.

He released her suddenly, frowning slightly. “Sorry, Mandy. Fuck.” He grunted, rolling onto his back and rubbing at his face stressfully.

“You got a call, you’re phones being going off for about an hour.” She murmured standing from his bed and dropping the phone next to him, before she left him to wake up.

Mickey sighed, his heart was still racing and his whole body shaking. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to feel the tingling shadow of the burning metal against his skin. He had been haunted by the same nightmare that’s been keeping him awake for the past week. Tiredly he reached for his phone next to him.

The screen was lit with a few calls and a really long message, all from an unknown number.

 _Hi, Mickey. I hope you remember me. It’s Fiona. Sorry I lost my phone and only just found it. Wanna meet up today? If not, I understand that’s_ _fine._ _Or we can meet another time._ _Great. I look forward to seeing you, if you wanted to see me._ _If not that’s completely cool, no worries._ _:-)_

Mickey blinked at the bright screen, who the fuck. It was the first time he had heard from Fiona since he slept with her a week back. He groaned, not bothering to comprehend the message, instead he just pressed the call button. It didn’t ring for long at all.

“Mickey?” Fiona asked, she sounded fresh and awake, excited if anything.

“Hey, Fiona. Yeah, I remember you.” He chuckled breathlessly, feeling better having something to distract himself with.

“Oh good.” She giggled. Silence fell between them briefly, before her voice cut through again. “Wanna meet up today? I mean, if you’re free. We can go out for dinner, or coffee again.”

Mickey sat up in bed, rubbing his eye as he stood. “Yeah sure. How about we meet in hour. You’re place?” He asked, needing to get away from his own.

“Mine, uh. Yeah sure. See you in an hour.” Her smile was carried into the phone. He was actually feeling good about see her again. “Hey, I’m really glad you called back. I look forward to seeing you.” She said softly, sweetly.

“Me too, bye.” Mickey hung up. Dragging on his jeans from yesterday, as he tugged on a t-shirt that covered his bruised shoulder. It was no longer in a sling, but it still hurt like a bitch and looked like he was infected with gangrene, a scar of thick black deep bruises.

Mickey was out the door and on the L in less than 10 minutes. He kept himself occupied by trying to catch sight of each tree that he passed by. See how many branches there were. But no matter the pointless activity that kept giving him a headache, his mind would keep drifting towards his father and his dream.

It was Mickey sitting in the factory, in the torture chair. His arms were strapped behind his back, unable to move. Terry’s eyes were angry and dark, his mouth thick as he spat filthy slurs at him. Mickey knew why he would be in the chair.

For the past week he had been regretting his stupid actions on that one night. He tried not to think about the feel of a man’s warm body, pressing over his own.

He was afraid, that was the feeling he needed to chase.

He had been haunted by the same dream of being burnt alive by his father ever since. He never should have gotten fucked by that fag. It was a stupid spur of the moment, that had him on all fours, taking it up the arse.

He felt relieved as the cool air surrounding Fiona’s street allowed him to catch his breath, breathing in the ice cold chill to fight off the burning fire that Terry threatened him with every time he closed his eyes.

He was 40 minutes early, he stared at her house as it sat on a slump, the steps peeling and bending with the old heave of generations that were bred and raised in the family home. He enjoyed staring at it, he tried not to compare it with his own, knowing it would only lead back to thoughts of his father.

He decided to take his chance as he went up and knocked on her front door. There was a sudden bustle of noise as kids screamed and ran around, creaking the thick steps inside.

The door was swung open, revealing a young boy staring back up at him. The kid’s face broke out into a knowing smile as he held up a hand to Mickey. Mickey took it firmly, giving it a shake as Carl stepped out of the way, leading him inside their home.

“Fiona’s dressing up for you.” He winked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Mickey gave him a faint smile uncomfortable at the kid’s suggestive action, “That’s fine. Yeah I’m a bit early.” He stated. He nervously ran a hand over his head, feeling his messy hair sticking up in all weird angles. He really should have given himself another 5 minutes in the bathroom to tidy himself up.

Mickey was awkwardly sitting by Carl as the kid stared at him restlessly. Mickey was uncomfortable, sitting alone in the kitchen with Carl, he wanted to shout out that he was here just for another Gallagher to be in his presence in case this one went feral. He shifted in his seat, looking at his hands that were folded in his lap, before he was unable to deal with the daggers that the kid was burning into his head.

“What kid?” He asked turning to him as Carl flinched, leaning back.

“Nothing, just trying to work out which crew you would be with?” Carl answered shrugging his shoulders. Mickey blinked at him, shaking his head.

“Crew? I’m not in any fucking crew.” Mickey stated, folding his arms across his chest. Carl was bad news, his eyes widened as he nodded subtly giving him a knowing wink.

“Say hi to Alex for me.” He whispered as he stood from the table and fished around the kitchen before pulling out a lighter from under a stack of papers. “You got any cigarettes?” He asked, moving back towards Mickey.

Mickey gave him an incredulous look, before handing over his packet. Carl took one out, tapping the leafy top to the box before flicking on the lighter. Mickey rolled his eyes, the kid was a poser, no doubt.

Carl breathed out a dark thick cloud of smoke, sighing out as he dug his hand into his pocket before bringing out two small packets of weed. “Here, for you’re trouble.” Carl smirked, dropping it by Mickey on the table with his packet of cigarettes.

“What the actual fuck.” Mickey muttered as he watched Carl ascend up the stairs causally, like he hadn’t just given Mickey $200 worth of weed.

Mickey pushed it the side of the table, shaking his head as he didn’t want to be caught with dope on him when he got home. It would always lead to questions. He stood up from the table, needing to keep his head busy as he was afraid his thoughts would catch up with him if was left alone for too long. and decided to go up the stairs.

Cautiously he walked past all the unfamiliar doors, ignoring the wide open room with the ‘Crime Scene’ tape as he noticed Ian lazily stretched out on the bed, his bare back facing him as he stared at the smooth expanse of flawless skin. His gut clenched uncomfortably at the sight.

Mickey knocked on Fiona’s door, keeping an eye on Ian to make sure that he didn’t wake the boy up. He could hear things shuffling in her room, before the door swung open to reveal a partially naked Fiona applying make up as she wore her bra and shorts.

“Mickey!” She squealed, wrapping her arms excitedly around his shoulders. Mickey threw a worried glance down the hall as he noticed Ian shifting in his bed as he rolled over to his side to see Mickey and his partially naked sister hugging out by her door. He met Mickey’s eye briefly before he flopped back into bed, letting his hands scruff into the bed sheets, before they were pulled up over his face.

“Come in, help me.” Fiona smiled, leading him into her room as she pushed him to the bed and pulled out three different dresses. “Which one?” She asked, her wide eyes awaiting an answer. By the look of her unrestricted happiness he assumed that she would be glad to wear anything that he selected.

He pointed to a dark blue dress that had a pressed rose pattern running across it. “Perfect.” She whispered, dropping the others and tugging off her shorts before pulling the dress on from her feet to around her breasts. “Zip?” She asked him. Mickey stood, sweeping her hair away from her back as he pulled up the zipper.

She caught his hands as she quickly turned, pulling him towards her as she kissed his cheek. “I’ve missed you. Really want to get to know you, Mick.” She huffed out, never dropping the smile on her face.

“Me too, what did you want to get up to tonight?” He wondered, wrapping a hand around her waist and bringing her close as he pushed their chests together in a comfortable hug.

She happily returned the hug, breathing in his scent. “Want to go out and dance?” She asked.

Mickey shrugged, not sure he was ready to go to another club as it stirred up the memories of Sam pressing hard against his back. “How about I run to the shops and buy food for dinner tonight. We can cook here, I’ll cook for everyone. Then I’ll get to know your family.” He gave her a tight lipped smile.

She was shinning as she nodded enthusiastically, “Perfect, sounds amazing. Well…” She looked down at her dress. “Should I slip into jeans instead?”

“Yes, please.” He playfully released a deep groan as he tipped his head back. He felt her hands push against his chest as she lightly slapped him.

“Really? It’s my jeans that get you horny?” She asked incredulous. He only shrugged his shoulders in response as she turned and lifted her hair out of the way. Mickey silently agreed to unzip her as she tugged on a pair of jeans and a jumper over her bra.

They left the room, hand in hand as Fiona pressed a kiss to his cheek before stepping in front of him to walk down the stairs, releasing his hand. Mickey was letting her kiss him more and more, becoming used to her mandatory touch.

Ian was standing shirtless in the kitchen, drinking milk straight from the carton as Mickey and Fiona hit the last step. He only gave them a blank stare before he shoved the milk back into the fridge and wiped his arm along his mouth. Grimly meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“Gross Ian, guess we’ll get a new thing of milk as well.” Fiona grumbled, grabbing her phone and wallet before exasperatedly watching Ian threaten her new man.

Ian was glaring at Mickey, intimidating him with his broad shoulders and easy light stance. Mickey had to look away before he would say something stupid to him, upsetting both him and Fiona easily and rejecting him from their house. Instead he ducked his head in weakness.

“Hey, Ian.” Fiona said, breaking his death stare. “Mickey’s offered to cook us dinner tonight? Are you going to be here?” She asked, leaning back against the bench.

Ian shrugged, “Probably not.” He grunted, giving Fiona a brief look before easily finding Mickey’s light blue eyes watching his again. Ian’s breath picked up as he had to forcefully pushed it out from his lungs, before he looked away and marched up the stairs ignoring his sister’s date in the kitchen. The same one that had him too worked up to fall back asleep after catching him staring at him in bed.

The air outside had dropped even colder since Mickey arrived, he was tugging his jacket closer around him. It was a decent walk, Fiona suggested catching a bus back home if they were to carry all these groceries.  
They easily kept each other busy, explaining the essential details about making the perfect wraps. Mickey felt it was more about what was inside it than the style and detailing. Although he was severely bias as he could never successfully roll any wraps, leaving it for Mandy if there was ever the option, if not then he would be mushing it all up and just shoving it in his mouth in one go.

Fiona found him endearing as he kept searching the unfamiliar shelfs to find the exact hummus that he liked. He then grabbed zucchini, carrots and stopped in front of the halloumi that sat in a fridge. “Hey Fiona?” He asked.

She placed a hand to his shoulder, as she moved to stand by him. Mickey hiding his wince as she touched his bruised skin. “You ever have halloumi before?” He wondered, meeting her eyes as she stared at the cheese.

“What?” She asked him, giving him a suspicious look.

“Oh come on, it’s a type of cheese, goes great with wraps.” He tried to convince her. She opened the fridge and chucked the cheese into his handful of things.

“Alright, sold. Let’s go already.” She laughed, scooping up a litre of milk as he led him to the cash register as they divided up a shared price on all the items. Mickey’s paying solely for his unique expensive cheese.

They caught the bus back as it was getting dark and they were both hungry, especially Mickey who hadn’t eaten anything that day.

Fiona slipped a key into the door and held it open, as Mickey moved ahead to unload the groceries and began to heat the frypan. Carl and Debbie were watching TV in the lounge room, indifferent to Mickey’s casual presence.

As Mickey cut up the halloumi, Fiona opened two bottle of beers, for herself and Mickey, resting it before him as she took a seat at the bench watching him as he cooked the cheese and started to cut up vegetables.

He was enjoying the domestic change, pretending to have a real family, unlike the mac ‘n’ cheese that would be being served at home. Mandy always did try, but nothing could beat the supportive atmosphere of having Fiona watching him like he was a world’s wonderful mystery.

“You can help, you know?” He let her know, playfully flashing her a smirk. She shook her head, taking a long swig of her beer. “Rather watch.” She joked, before giving in and taking the knife from Mickey’s hand, helping him by cutting up the carrots.

Fiona and Mickey were rolling up the wraps, the light doughy fibres tearing as Mickey had overloaded each one. Fiona was laughing, trying to save it by wrapping two bits of bread around them. “How does anyone ever do this? It’s impossible?” Fiona complained.

“Mandy’s pro at wraps.” Mickey let slip, folding the bread over a less filled wrap.

“Mandy?” Fiona questioned, meeting his eye.

“Yeah, my sister.” He explained, “I’m sure you’ll see her one day. She… looks like me.” He smiled.

They had attempted to fold the wraps as well as they could, beginning to bring plates to the kitchen table as Fiona called out for Debbie and Carl, and whoever else was in the house. But just those two ran for the table. They all started to nibble at the bits of bread as Fiona stood by the fridge already reaching for her third beer.

Ian pushed through the door, completely thrown off by the sight before him. He blinked, trying to find out who died and let them inherent enough money for a decent meal.

“Ian, glad you made it. Here, jump down to the table and grab a wrap.” Fiona offered, reaching for a plate as she made her way back to the kitchen table, placing it in the free seat next to Mickey.

Mickey wiped away the hummus from his bottom lip as he moved to place a wrap on Ian’s plate for him. “Sit.” He said without any force.

The boy dropped his backpack by the front door as he sat next to Mickey, wrapping his fingers around the bread and hesitantly licking at the hummus.

Mickey could smell cigarettes and sex off Ian’s shirt, but didn’t comment as he figured that a good meal in his belly would help his body digest whatever he had ingested tonight. But Mickey couldn’t ignore Ian’s tired eyes as he had a hand resting on the table as the other continued to stuff his mouth with food. He was starved.

Fiona was talking about her work, she liked working at a tiny cafe in the upper end of town. Mickey hoped to visit her there one day. The stories of everyone’s day continued, through to Debbie’s girl drama and Carl’s dealing drama. Even Ian talked about his failure at school. When it came to Mickey, he just tried to recount every moment he had when he wasn’t thinking about betraying his father. He ended up just telling them about the different posters hanging up in his room, which he stared at for about four hours each day.

As they all finished their food, Mickey’s chest was tightening in fear of his father and his stupid night over a week ago. He had to excused himself from the table as he went into the bathroom upstairs, running water over his face and trying to clear his mind.

When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the fire in his fathers eyes once again. He had to grit his teeth just to stop himself from crying out in frustration. This fear of his father was going to ruin him, more than it already had.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the door opened and Fiona stepped inside, her eyes were wide with sincerity as she silently pulled Mickey into a tight hug. He was about to tell her he was fine, but the sureness of her grasp around his back made him feel safe to accept the comfort without needing to explain.

After a long moment her hands fell from around his body as she wordlessly left the bathroom. Mickey followed after her, as they went back downstairs. Mickey was relieved to see Carl still scoffing down wrap after wrap as Mickey picked up the plates around him. Fiona and him tidied up the kitchen before Fiona led him into the lounge room where he dropped between Fiona and a half-asleep Ian.

She cuddled up into his side as he wrapped an arm around her, watching the screen as it showed various aquatic life. He wasn’t really paying attention, just glad to be watching something with a lot of water compared to his thoughts of continuous fire.

Mickey must have fallen asleep, as he woke up with a start, feeling someone push lightly at his shoulder. He looked up to find a grumpy Ian nudging at his shoulder. Fiona was still sprawled out in Mickey’s lap as Mickey leaned upon Ian, crushing his leg by the look of it.

“Sorry.” Mickey coughed out, lifting himself off Ian and sitting upright. He looked at the TV that someone must have turned off. He watched as Ian folded back in on himself, into a deep sleep. He then noticed Carl also passed out on the carpet. Debbie must have turned the TV off and disappeared up to bed at a responsible time.

Mickey smiled at the comfortable family. He stood, lifting Fiona in his arms as he carried her up the stairs into her room. Leaving the blankets down around her body. He figured he’d sort her out in a minute.

He descended back down the stairs and hiked Carl up into his arms as he climbed up the stairs, dropping him in a bunk in the far room shared with Ian and Liam. Before Mickey returned back down the stairs and gently heaved Ian up into his chest, enjoying his heavy weight that curled up neatly to his body as the boy breathe quietly. His warm body was heating Mickey’s hands as he held him closer than necessary to his chest, enjoying the feeling.

Mickey easily carried him up the stairs as he passed the few lights left on, catching sight of Ian’s red hair that lit up his entire face, drowning out his pale skin. Mickey lied him in his bed, removing his over-shirt that stunk of cigarettes and dropping it the floor, he then pulled off the boy’s shoes and tossed them on the floor. He pulled the blanket up over Ian’s body. Silently leaving him to sleep.

Mickey made his way into Fiona’s room as he shrugged out of his jacket and shoes, remaining in only his boxers as he slipped between the warm sheets and resumed to curl into Fiona, before realising she still had her shoes on much like Ian did.

He stood and removed Fiona’s shoes, before lying back in bed and drawing her up against his chest. Nuzzling the soft strands of her hair as he felt safe having someone in his arms. Only wishing for a moment that it could be someone wrapping their arms around his shoulders and holding him for a change.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Graphic Violence is heavily implied in this Chapter.

 

The warm sun flittered across Fiona’s skin as she rolled away from the bright light, looking up to see Mickey’s sleeping face. She smiled at the sight as she sat up and laid herself across his chest, enjoying the seeping warmth from his skin. She drew her hips up closer towards him, surprised as she bumped his tenting dick from his boxers. She looked up to his face, blinking as he remained in a deep sleep, with an arm draped over his eyes.

She smirked as she began to lightly trace a hand down his bare stomach, slipping a hand down his boxers and easily grasping his dick as she gave it a slow stroke. He was already hard but with the few touches she had him whining and pushing himself back into the mattress. He was groaning deep and withering under her touch, she loved having him like this.

Fiona pulled back his underpants as she pushed her lips around his dick, continuing to stroke the space she didn’t cover. Mickey raised his arm from his face as lifted himself up, leaning back on his elbows. He blinked at the morning sight, as at Fiona lifted off his dick to press a kiss to the exposed skin of his stomach. “Morning.” She whispered.

He cringed at the sentiment in her voice. “The fuck are you sucking on my cock for?” He wondered, his voice groggy with sleep.

She smoothly chuckled, running her thumb over the slit. “You were hard when I woke up this morning, thought I’ d help you out.” She explained, dropping her head as she took him down again, he grunted out in response.

Fiona was slowly waking him up with an easy blowjob, enjoying the way he became more and more responsive as he threaded his fingers through her hair and made cute little throaty noises that he couldn’t hold back.

Mickey pushed Fiona’s head away when he knew he was about to cum. He replaced her hand with his own tattoo ed fist, sitting on the edge of the bed, jerking himself off. It didn’t take long for him to cum into his hand. She watched him, pressing light kisses along his shoulder.

“You’re easy to please in the mornings.” She whispered, tracing her lips along his skin.

He chuckled, “Isn’t hard to cum when you ain’t got much on you’re mind.” She murmured an agreement as she leaned her head to his shoulder, as he leant his head on hers for a moment.

He let her fingers dip across his chest to his other shoulder where thick marks were still bruised into his muscle. “How did this happen?” She wondered, lifting her head to get a better view.

“Motorbike stunt. Fucked it up.” He muttered. She leant across his body as she pressed a soft kiss to it.

“Ouch.” She sighed out, standing up from the bed and scooping her clothes up from the floor. Mickey didn’t notice the nice view of her arse.

Mickey soon followed suit, standing from the bed as he made his way to the bathroom leaving Fiona to get dressed for the day. He washed the cum off his palm before using the toilet and turning on the shower.

The cold water felt good over his heated skin, as he tilted his head up to let the water drain down his face.

He smiled, he hadn’t had a nightmare.

Fiona was downstairs, making breakfast as Mickey jumped down from the stairs. He met her over by the stove, letting his arms slowly encircle her waist as she turned in his arms to pressed a kiss to his jaw. He gave a big smile to Liam as he watched them, sat at the bench peeling apart stretchy bits of pancakes.

Mickey stared at the table, “Do you guys only ever have pancakes?” He wondered, taking in the sight of Carl, Debbie, Lip and Ian all huddled around as they munched through the familiar tough bit of dough.

“Yeah, we’ve only been equipped with the survival basics. Meaning pasta, sandwiches, and pancakes.” Fiona explained, switching off the frypan as she brought the stack to the table.

“Equipped? Did you’re parents teach you? To raise you’re siblings?” He asked, hoping he wasn’t over stepping any lines.

Lip swallowed down a chunk of pancake before speaking up, “The only thing our parent’s prepared us for was disappoint. They taught us fuck all.” He spat, Mickey nodded, recognising the pent up anger as a trait within himself.

“I learnt at school, you now measurements. Then just what ever recipes I can find on the back of packets.” Fiona murmured taking a seat as she began to eat at the pancakes. “And raising my siblings, that just became second nature.” She smiled sweetly at her brothers and sister.

Mickey took a seat next to her and Carl, “Did you just get back from Uni?” Mickey asked Lip, cutting into his pancake.

He nodded clearing his throat, “I come home for weekends, was meant to get back last night but I...” He rubbed at his lower lip at the thought. “Got caught up, I suppose.” He smiled, continuing his breakfast.

Ian was the first to finish as he stood up abruptly and carried his plate into the kitchen, abandoning it in the sink before disappearing into his room. Fiona eyed him cautiously as everyone made their way through their dry pancake base.

“Is it true that Uni’s just a big piss-up on the weekends?” Mickey asked.

Lip smirked, nodding as he took a sip of orange juice. “Not just on weekends.” He murmured, giving Mickey a genuine smile.

Mickey was going to continue asking what he studied before his phone rang out loudly between them. He excused himself and stood quickly to his feet as he answered the call. He walked out the backdoor as he shut it firmly behind himself, breathing out past the cold shiver that creaked into his bones from leaving the familiar warmth of Fiona’s house without any jacket.

“Terry?” He asked, holding his breath as he awaited for his father to speak.

“Where the fuck are you, son ? You’ve got a big one tonight.” He spat, an undercurrent of anger bursting through his voice. Mickey’s chest stung at the mention of ‘you’, meaning he would be leading the assault. He swallowed guiltily.

“Out. I can be home in 15 minutes.” Mickey pushed past the creeping fear along his skin, at the mention of the job. He wondered what was so special about this job that had his father feeling like he needed to let his son step up for a change.

Terry sighed harshly into the phone, grumbling something to someone next to him, probably Mandy. He coughed into the speaker as Mickey pulled the phone away from his ear. His stomach was all clenched up. T he feeling of vomit rising up his throat had forced him to heave in deep breaths of cold air.

“Better be home in 10.” He muttered, holding back his voice, a technique to increase the fear when torturing. “Or you don’t get the car.” Terry threatened. Mickey nodded, gripping onto the backstairs railing and staring at the mulch of snow that collected along the pavement.

The car was a weak threat. He would have ended up driving anyway, considering Terry lost his license and none of the others have one. “Okay-” The backdoor swung opened as Ian stepped out, his wide green eyes meeting Mickey’s. “I’ll be there.” Mickey finished, hearing the phone’s disconnection as he dropped Ian’s eyes and slipped the mobile into his back pocket, turning back towards the door.

Ian tugged his backpack on firmly over his shoulder, “Guess you won’t be coming back tonight.” he grumbled, holding Mickey’s down turned eyes. Ian unconsciously widened his stance, he wasn’t sure if it was to prevent Mickey from leaving or to attack him into it.

Mickey ran a hand down his face, shrugging his shoulders, he didn’t know. He hoped he’ll come back. But tonight, most likely not.

Ian didn’t wait long for a response before he shyly looked away, turning quickly as he made his way down the stairs without giving Mickey another look.

Mickey watched until the boy was gone from sight, he closed his eyes, giving himself a few seconds to push down the sick feeling rising in his gut. With a deep breath he made his way back inside, finding Fiona and Lip chatting between them. He gave Fiona a tight lipped smile as he continued to make his way upstairs.

Fiona’s bedroom was glowing in a warm light, a sense of comfort he never knew from his ice cold creaking house. He grimly shoved his thinning packet of cigarettes into his back pocket and hiked up his boots. He left her room and found himself hesitating at the top of the stairs for a moment, before went back downstairs.

Fiona stood by the sink with her hair in a mess as she washed up plates. Nervously Mickey approached her from behind, running his hands down her arms and pulling her shoulders back into his chest, as he dipped his head to press a kiss to her neck. “I need to head off.” He murmured, an unsaid apology weighing down his voice.

She tilted her neck to the side allowing him more skin to touch as she sighed out sadly. Lifting her hand to place it over Mickey’s on her shoulder. “Well now that you’ve got my number, you better be calling me.” She joked, undermining her true feelings.

He nodded, his light trace of stubble catching in her hair, “We’ll be in touch.” He stepped back from her, leaving her alone in the kitchen as he popped his head into the lounge room, waving a goodbye to Debbie who gave him a faint smile in return.

With a final nod Mickey stepped out of her house, and moved quick to his own. Fear grabbing at him the entire time. He ended up sprinting along the L as he manoeuvred into his street, seeing the car still sitting there unmoved since he last drove it.

He caught his breath outside the door, before he knocked. He waited two tedious minutes before it finally opened as Terry glared down at him. “Mick, get in.” He gritted, slapping his hand to Mick’s bruised shoulder as he squeezed it tight to shove him inside. “Get dressed, and get the keys.”

Mickey slipped out of yesterday’s shirt, tugging on an old raggedy one he was willing to let be covered in blood. Mandy popped her head inside his room, “Where were you?” She whispered, her eyes wide and expecting.

He turned from her as he fished out a new packet of cigarettes thinking the six he had left wouldn’t be enough. “ You with someone?” Mandy questioned stepping further inside his room. Mickey continued to ignore her as he lit up a cigarette unable to resist the urge. “The one that called you yesterday ?”

“Fuck, Mandy. What do you want me to say?” He spat, losing his temper and turning on his sister as he puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Yeah, I met someone, we fuck. So what.” He shoved past her, following down the hall as he scrapped up the keys from the bench and gestured to the door for Iggy and Christ to wait out in the car.

Mickey was in a bad mood, set on edge from his father and about to be pushed off it from the job.

Terry was sitting on the couch, downing a beer as he watched football on the TV. He didn’t seem in any rush, it had Mickey itching to leave. “You want to go now?” Mickey awkwardly asked his father. He didn’t get a response, but instead Terry shouted out angrily at the failing team he was following before throwing his half filled beer-can to the screen. He grumbled out swear words as he made his way out the door.

Mickey found Mandy standing behind him as she grabbed a towel, always expecting and quick to clean up Terry’s messes. He gave her an appreciative nod before stepping out of the house and closing the door behind him.

Mickey knew it would be a tough day, with an already mid-day drunk Terry and with the pressure for him to complete the job. He knew already that he would be disappointing his father.

He was directed to a rich suburb by Terry while he sat fumbling over different paper maps that were spread over his legs. Mickey was lost in his thoughts, between his worry of Terry suddenly snapping and his strengthening relationships with Fiona. He was getting too close with Fiona, close enough that he either broke it or committed to it. He had never really been with anyone special, but he enjoyed being with Fiona and knew it had him feeling happy.

Terry suddenly gripped Mickey’s hand on the steering wheel. “Park. This is it.” He spat, not releasing his son’s wrist until he had pulled up into a spot.

Mickey slowly slipped his eyes up to see the large familiar apartment complex. It was heavy and imposing as it loomed over their tiny car, it screamed drug dealer and unpaid debts.

Mickey felt his stomach drop as his chest tightened uncomfortably, he had the sudden urge to light up a smoke as the reality of the situation sunk in, he had been here only a week ago. It was his one-night stand, Sam’s home.

Iggy and Chris were quick to jump out of the car as they heaved open the boot, shuffling around different forms of duct tape and guns. Terry slapped Mickey on the chest, waking him from his thoughts. “Get out there boy.” He grumbled.

Mickey opened the stiff car door, swinging his legs out as he tried to ignore the nausea that spiraled around him. Iggy threw a hooded black mask at him as he hurriedly tugged it on over his face, before a heavy gun was placed into his hands and he watched his eager brothers crossed the street.

Mickey’s heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to make his lethargic legs keep up with his enthusiastic brothers who took each step with haste. Mick knew which floor they were heading up to way before Iggy indicated to the very door. Chris stood alone as Mick and Iggy waited, unseen by the stairs. He knocked, arms loose as he tucked the gun in the back of his waistband.

Mick couldn’t think, his head was spinning as each breath seemed to pull him forward. His hands were shaking as his blood was heavy as it was thickly pumped to every muscle, swelling his head as he looked on dizzily with a deluge of adrenaline.

Chris only stood for a few tedious seconds before the door swung open all to quickly to reveal Sam standing confidently in nothing but tight jeans. “Hey, can I help you?” He asked. Eyeing the nervous Chris who stared at the man blankly behind his black ski mask. It was too late, Mick knew that there was no way for Sam to survive this.

Sam was oblivious to the other two pair of eyes watching him, as he openly waited for the man’s response. “The fuck you can.” Chris spat, not hesitating to kick him in the nuts as the man stumbled back into his place, releasing a brutal grunt of pain as he held his hands up in a weak defense. Iggy was quick to follow his brother inside, as they stood slamming their fists and kicks into Sam’s face and stomach as he fell to floor, lying helplessly on the ground.

Mickey felt himself swaying as he hesitantly peered around the corner. He saw Sam down on the ground, blood already spilling messily over the timber flooring. The hard steel cap of Iggy’s boot was ramming into his nose, knocking his head back at a strange angle. Sam had stopped whimpering weakly as all that could be heard was the bothers harsh breaths and the dull kicks the body was taking.

Mick looked away as guilt coarsed thickly through his stomach at the sight. He was convincing himself that this would have happened one way or another as he looked up suddenly catching the eyes of a young man standing by the bedroom door. The boy’s eyes were wide with complete fear as he stood with only a shirt covering his waist as he watched his boyfriend get smashed into the ground.

Mickey was frozen, unable to speak. He knew it was very real that it could have been him watching from Sam’s bedroom. He didn’t want to watch an innocent young man die because of the implications of being involved.

Mick felt the burning fury he possessed drench through his skin, his shoulders shook as he faced the unfair reality of what it was to enjoying taking it up the arse. He shamefully looked away from the boy standing fearfully with big wide brown eyes and trembling fingers. Iggy’ s observant eyes easily noticed the additional man in the room. His tattooed finger pointed at the young man in disgust, “Mickey, shoot that faggot over there.” He spat as he gave Sam another unnecessarily hard kick to his stomach.

Mickey couldn’t move to respond, the gun was limp in his hands as he timidly let his eyes meet the stranger’s again. Mickey found his pleading pretty eyes telling him not to kill instead of happily enjoying the sight of Sam as he should have been doing.

Mick couldn’t return any apology as Chris finally grew some balls for the first time in his life. Impetuously the youngest Milkovich raised the gun to the stranger and shot him.

His naked body splattered to the floor without much of anything, his arms folded at an unusual angle, no fear or fight left in the boy’s muscles anymore.

Iggy heaved Sam to his feet, before the heavy limp figure slipped through his hands and he was dropped to the floor. “Fuck, just drag him.” Chris convinced him, as they both tugged at Sam’s legs, pulling him along the stairs as his head was bumped on each step, echoing around the tight stairways was the solid wet thumps of his head hitting the cold tiles.

Mickey numbly followed down the stairs, leaving the empty apartment and the sight of thick blood pooled on the floor and splattered across the bedroom door. He watched as Sam’s body caved in, struggling to intake breaths as his chest was colour by different hits, exploding vibrant marks of red and blue across his body. His nose was cracked, drying blood dribbling down his face as it clump into his stubble.

Iggy and Chris lifted the body over their shoulder as they moved swiftly to the car across the street , throwing the body into the boot and slamming it shut. Mickey blinked at his brothers, watching as they shoved Sam between different types of guns. Although Mickey knew that he wouldn’t be waking up for a while, there was no hope for his escape. A thought that would normally be a comfort, but for Mickey, it was more a curse. Becoming another Milkovich success story.

Mickey was the last to slip into the car, Terry was yelling at him. Whacking the steering wheel as Mickey tried to make his heavy numb limbs move quickly, taking them to the factory through his jagged turns and unsteady grip. He just kept thinking of Sam’s broad chest pressing in to his, feeling his lips trace along his shoulders. His witty remarks and sure nature. Mickey felt suffocated as he tugged off his mask, throwing it back to Iggy.

He sped home, wishing that a police car would size them up and arrest them. He didn’t want to complete this job. Didn’t want to see Sam’s body violated.

By the time they reached the factory, Terry was buzzing with adrenaline, his sons following suit as Mickey remained torn between family and his own selfish morals. He never should have fucked Sam, and even now what difference would it make whether they had fucked or not. He kept trying to tell himself, he was just another dodge dealer that met the end of his line. He slammed the car door shut as he watched Sam being dragged to the chair that rested above the drain.

His limp arms were tied behind his back, his ankles tied to the legs of the chair, naturally spreading his legs open. Terry leaned in front of his face, searching to see if he was still breathing, giving t he man a whack to the side of his head as Sam flinched away in response. Terry laughed at the man, clenching his dark hair in his hands as he yanked at his scalp. “Growing it out are you?” He asked, “ You look like a fucking girl. Bet you also take dick like one.” Terry taunted.

Sam didn’t response, he didn’t look able to, as his body remained emotionless beyond the faint stutter of breath his lungs managed to intake.

Iggy and Chris stood back with their arms folded over their chest, being the good little bystanders they were. Mickey was angry at them, finding it easy to hate them then to hate himself more than he already did. Last week they were struggling to kill some pimp, but when it came to a fag they easily had the strength to get him good. Terry would be proud of his boys.

Mickey watched with his teeth clenched, enduring the sight of Sam’s death. His eyes were twitching and his hands shook. Mickey was pushing down tears and bile that threatened to spill at the bleeding mush of a man before him.

“We’ll give him a minute to get his bearings.” Terry stated, stepping back from Sam. He met Mick’s eyes. “Then you’ll running the show, son.” He said with a wide grin, an anxious awaiting excitement burning in his eyes.

Mickey nervously swallowed as he waited for Sam to wake up. Terry was standing by Mick with his arms folded and his teeth gritted, watching restlessly. His mind was ticking over every inch of the faggot, mentally compartmentalising different ways to kill the bastard.

Mickey was sweating, his whole body quivering as he felt like he was swallowing sand by the time that Sam gently rolled his head up to meet Terry’s dark eyes. “What the fuck?” Sam asked, voice dry and husky. Familiar to the way he sounded as he jeered at Mickey, before comfortably wrapping his hand around his straining cock.

“You dirty little pansy.” Terry chuckled, enjoying the man’s widening arms as he took in his surroundings. “Mick.” His father addressed, indicating that he should stand in his position, directly in front of the man as he took a step back, allowing his son all the prestigious space he deserved for cleansing the world from the zealous actions of the gays.

Mickey took wobbly steps closer, Sam was thrashing against the cable ties around his wrist as he finally looked up to meet Mickey’s dark eyes. Sam swallowed thickly, he could barely see the new figure behind his tear blurred, swollen shut black eyes.

“Knifes back there.” Terry grumbled, backseat driving as he watched his son with interest and expectation.

Mickey dropped his eyes from Sam’s smashed-in face as he stared down at his firm muscular chest, he had to continue looking away as he saw the shinning knife awaiting next to him. With unsteady fingers he wrapped his hand around the cool metal, it felt heavier than normal.

He turn with hooded eyes to face Sam again as he pushed forward against his restraints, spitting out a thick blob of blood to the floor by Mickey’s feet. Sam’s chest was shuttering as it strained against the raw shredded skin. Mickey was loosing himself at the sight. It was the same chest that he had been left fantasising over for the past week.

Sam’s hands were clenched into fists, his throat muscles prominent as he held back a cry. Mickey blinked at the sight, taking in the heaving body before him. It wouldn’t take long to kill him. A single stab to his throat or chest. It would simply cut off his already thin supply of oxygen.

The man rolled his head back, giving Mickey a clear view of his stretched neck. He swallowed past the rising blood inside his internal organs as his sharp jaw had Mickey’s heart clenching uncomfortably. He looked back down at the knife in his hands, slippery as his nerves had him drenching in cold sweat.

“Mickey, come on. Have fun with it.” Iggy urged his brother, feeling accomplished as he watched his brother fuck up their father’s respect.

“Shut up.” Terry spat, silencing his younger son who dipped his head in defeat. Terry remained quiet watching Mickey like a hawk as he wanted to see him gut the fucker dry.

Sam was crying, his face was scrunched up in pain as he sobbed between the uncomfortable silence. His skin was rising with goosebumps in the darkening cold. “Please-” He began, his voice dry and harsh to Mickey’s ears.

“Cut that queer fucker. Slice off his cock and shove it up his own faggoty’ arse for fucksakes.” Terry shouted, rage blistering around him as his patience ran thin.

Mickey gripped the knife more firmly, begging himself to ignore the night he shared with Sam. He just needed to kill him, have him finished and thrown into the ocean. It was a job he had managed many times before. At least enough times to know what to expect from the situation.

He raised the knife to his shoulder, letting the cold metal rest on his skin. Sam whimpered at the touch, his head dropping to his chest as he stared up at Mickey. Catching sight of his dark hair and grim face, the uncertainty written in his blue eyes. Sam was able to see his features, piecing together the man’s resistance and his own shaking hands.

“Were you-” Sam didn’t finished, as Mickey dragged the knife down his chest, slicing the skin as the man broke out into screams. It wasn’t deep, it wasn’t even heavily bleeding. It was more of a warning. Mickey couldn’t let him speak, couldn’t have Sam telling his family about the time they fucked.

Sam began to weakly sob, loosing faith that the person before him could have been one of his lovers. Mickey stared at the slowly beading push of blood in the cut, he regretted it. Guilt strangling him as his hands trembled, watching as Sam lost control, shaking in fear.

“Well give it to him again, son.” Terry spat, fed up with the delay as his adrenaline was drying out.

Mickey wouldn’t, he felt the tears well in his eyes as the sight of the cut staining Sam’s perfect chest. Dripping from the wound as it coated his tough muscular stomach in the rich red blood. “Mickey! Again!” Terry shouted. Mick flinched at his father’s voice.

Terry was stepping forward, yanking the knife from Mickey’s hand as he shoved him to the side not hesitating as he gripped Sam’s hair and brought his face forward to see him. “You disgust me.” He slowly articulated. Before diving the knife forward in the tense skin of his stomach, peeling it’s way through easily. Mick watched in horror, shaking with his head spinning as he watched the thick strands of blood leak from the man’s trembling body.

Sam released a throaty shout of pain, trying to thrash his head back as it was caught in Terry’s fist, his stomach clenching as more blood seeped around the waistband of his jeans. Mickey couldn’t stop it. His own breath was coming out thick and heavy between his teeth as he watched in silence.

“Please. I- please. I don’t understand.” Sam spat out. His own body shaking and pushing against his restraints.

“Your a filthy little fairy.” Terry spat. “How big is you’re dick anyway, huh?” he jeered, releasing Sam’s hair as he gripped his neck and continued to tease his skin by running the blade down his stomach and stopping it at the waistband of his jeans. Sam’s breath picked up as his chest violently panted, a deeper fear coursing through his body.

Terry was smirking as he slipped the cold metal beneath his pants, pushing the blade flat against his dick. Sam cried out in pure fear, howling out as Mickey squinted becoming physically hurt by his cry for help.

“Boys, interested in seeing how big a queer’s dick is?” Terry asked, pulling the fabric of his jeans down to his ankles as he exposed his limp dick. “Not that big, is it? That’s why pathetic men with tiny dicks go for other men with tiny dicks. Because no woman wants a small dick up their cunt, that’s why these fuckers are all fags. Small dicks.” He rambled, laughing as he prodded at Sam’s penis with the tip of the blade. It scratched the surface as Sam flinched from the touch, holding his breath in fear that if he moved he would lose it.

Mickey stared at the dick that had been up his arse. It was beautiful, it fitted him perfectly, took him hard and quick. The way he needed it. He tried not to think of his brothers and father laughing at the man that he felt comfortable with. He knew it was bullshit, he had felt Sam’s dick, it was bigger than the way it was presented now. But he knew it wouldn’t matter now, that no one would ever feel Sam’s dick again.

Mickey looked away from the sight as his father continued teasing Sam’s sensitive skin with the knife. Mickey found his eyes drift to a birthmark spread across the front of his hip that latched onto his upper thigh. He never noticed it that night, but then again he didn’t want to think about what he was doing then.

“I would cut off his dick, but all faggots are dirty, wouldn’t want aids around here.” Terry spat, gesturing to the room as he leaned back to glare at Sam’s bleeding face, before chuckling and turning to face his son. “Mickey.” His father’s voice was gruff, unforgiving. “Take this knife and cut him. ” Mickey raised his eyes to his father’s, finding them without resistance and impending awareness of Mickey’s failures. Disappointment pressed deep on his brow. “Now, Mick.” He warned.

Mickey was shaking, his whole body on edge as he stared into his fathers stern eyes. It flipped like a switch in Terry’s eyes as he disgustedly turned away from Mickey. He flipped the knife into his other hand before he drove the thick blade into Sam’s spread thigh, it caught past the skin, muscle and bone as it pushed out from the other end, dripping blood down to the floor. “Hold that for me.” He smirked at Sam who broke out into terrified pained screams.

Terry was fed up as he turned on his incompetent son, stepping forward with a low thud from his boots before reaching his paling face with a sudden strong upper cut. Crushing his fist in to Mickey’s face, cutting open the skin over his cheek. Mickey took the hit, quick to step out of Terry’s way, before his father indicated at his other brothers. “Grab him.” He spat.

Iggy was the first to move, easily following the order as he wrapped an arm around Mickey’s shoulder, pushing into his old bruised skin. Chris followed suit shortly after. Terry plumped hit after hit as Mickey’s body crumpled in on itself, only standing by the tight hold his brother’s had. “Don’t be dicking around Mickey, we don’t have all night for you to be a fucking pansy.” Terry ended his lesson by kneeing his son in the gut, winding him as he gasped in the thin air surrounding him.

“Drop him.” Terry spat, watching with pleasure as his weak son dropped it his knees, heaving in the air. “Get me the hooks.” He directed his other son’s, waiting with a wicked glint in his eye.

Mickey was leant up against the factory wall, his chest was stinging with each breath of air as his father and brothers untied Sam’s body and threw him to the floor, letting him attempt to crawl away before hacking the hooks into his Achilles heels. He cried out as the heavy metal sunk between bone and tendon. Iggy pulled on the ropes, letting Sam’s body be dragged into the air as he screamed as the brunt on his weight was only held by the thick string of muscle in his Achilles tendon. Mickey closed his eyes at the sight, unable to watch as Sam slowly rocked back and forth, with his ankles uncomfortably extended.

Mickey felt it like a knife to his gut as he watched Sam hang in the air, his body limp and immobile as his stomach was sliced up, voiding him of the abdominal strength for anything other than taking the brunt of the weight in his legs.

Sam’s shoutings was incoherent, almost like he had to make noises so loud that it distracted him from the reality that he was going to die. Like hearing his own screams was better than feeling the pain. It was better Mickey supposed with a grim acceptance to the reality. Knowing Sam’s energy would be use up quickly, letting him pass out at the lost of blood and overwhelming pain, it would make cutting him to pieces later easier.

Terry pushed against his legs, watching him swing further back and forward. Iggy was laughing as he tried to get himself involved in the action. Chris had returned to his natural state of stepping back from the violence.

Sam was trying desperately to reach the floor with his untied hands, needing to push against it and take the pressure away from the strain on his ankles. His jeans had been tugged off from his body, removing the last decent modesty he had as his whole body was strung up bare for the show.

The cut already made across his stomach and shoulder was drying up as only thin dribbles of blood seeped down, up along his chest as it dripped off his shoulder landing to the concrete floor of the factory. Terry grabbed a knife and reached up to scrap the sharp edge of the blade along his legs, digging at the cut he made earlier. He then lightly pressed the knife into his skin as he ran it down from his ankles to the his dangling legs. It didn’t cut but it easily brought up a red indent along his skin.

“Are you right handed or left handed?” Terry asked, with an air of professionalism.

Sam didn’t response instead he tried to hide his hands behind his back, away from Terry’s peering eyes. “ Please, please.” Sam begged, his voice faint.

Terry didn’t mess around, “You’re gonna lose both anyway.” He smirked, “I’ll start with you’re right, more common that way.” He grabbed Sam’s shaking right arm as he brought the sharp blade down upon his wrist, as it cut off various bits of skin. Terry drew his arm back, bringing the knife down again and again until the bone and stump of his hand had fallen to the floor.

Thick bursts of blood squirted from his open wound, Sam was screaming, unable to look at his hand as he clenched his teeth together, he was breathing in heavy manic gulps of air. The other hand soon followed as Terry gloated his success. Forcing Sam to swing back and forth even more as the blood was thickly pooled on the floor, splashing up along Sam’s arms and coating Terry’s boots.

“I’ve always wondered what went wrong with these men.” Terry gripped Sam’s uncut thigh, feeling the thick muscle underneath his skin, “ Until I understood the difference between a fag and a real man.” He runs his hands up his leg, as he wraps his hand around Sam’s ankle only to heave it down more on the hook, splitting the already stretched fibre of skin. “It’s a biological difference,” He continues over Sam’s screams. “It affects their ability to fuck women, like normal men. It’s natures way of making sure that these fucked up creations don’t populate. Their all diseased and dying because god finds them disgusting.”

Mickey opened his eyes, holding a hand over his face as he tried to stop the stinging start of tears, swelling in his eyes. Sam was bleeding out quickly, his wrists providing a continuous flow as it pooled around him. 

Terry recognised Sam’s reduced screams and oozing energy and will to live. He decided then to end it quick with urgency as he spat at Sam’s broken body. Before he kicked up at his face, pushing him into another violently swing as the kick broke through his crushed bone, splitting his jaw and inducing another spout of blood from what was barely left to be recognised as his face.

Terry threw in some punches, clipping his stomach as the bare skin in dented with the hits, easily caving in. The blood began to drip, revealing the hollow openings of what remained in Sam’s body.

Mickey and Terry knew that he was hanging dead.

“Well…” Terry spun on his heels, facing Mickey who was shaking in the corner. “You can have the fun of cleaning this up.” He gave Sam a final push as the body dangled eerily. “Keys.” He spat stepping in front of Mickey as he held out his palm.

Mickey fingers were trembling as he placed the keys into his fathers hand, seeing the flicks of blood latching in between his fingers as they curled around the keys.

“Catch the L home.” Terry finished, easily and cheerfully turning and grabbing his other two son’s by the collar as he shoved them out the door.

Leaving Mickey to break down as he dropped his face into his hands, letting out a stuttered sob. Hearing the grumble of the car’s engine as he was left to face Sam’s body. 


	6. Chapter Six

 

The thick heavy smell of metallic blood was intoxicating as Mickey had to push himself forward to heave up the contents of his stomach. Watching grimly as his vomit mixed with Sam’s blood before him.

His throat felt raw. His fingers tingling numb as he wiped them down his face. Releasing a deep sigh he pushed his feet up underneath him as brought himself to stand. Raising his head as he solemnly watched Sam’s body swing slowly back and forth from the hooks wedged deep into his ankles. 

He looked at what was left of Sam’s face, he was almost unrecognisable. Compared to the memories of the night they shared where Mickey had been drawn in by his trace of stubble. Now he was just a voluminous mound of flesh.

Mickey released the rope as the body thumped to the floor. With tensed fingers his hiked the hooks out of his ankles and threw them to the other end of the factory.

He stared at the roughened expanse of Sam’s skin, bruised from his drag down the stairs and scarred by the ruthless Milkovich’s. Mickey lightly pressed a hand over Sam’s thigh, touching his cold skin as he grieved at the sight. Mickey had to let him go, he never wanted to have him in the first place, but he couldn’t look at his dead body and not feel responsible.

Mick’s chest was tight as it constricted, trying to hold back what uncontrollable screams were left to come from his throat. He was feeling nothing, yet he cried as if he was in crippling pain. As if it was him who had been slaughtered instead of Sam.

He lifted and dragged Sam over towards the bone saw, as he laid the body onto the plastic sheets. Readying the garbage bags and duct tape.

Mickey almost died inside as he cut Sam’s body into three pieces. Two legs and then his trunk. He tried to hold his eyes steady on the sight before him, but it kept drifting in and out. As the bone saw flicked through skin to dried-up blood to bone. With shaking hands he wrapped it all up in plastic. He swallowed down another feeling of vomiting as he dragged the garbage bags to the cliff, a good 15 minute walk that he took without complaint.

His shoulder was aching as he threw a bag over the edge, straining against the healed muscle as he rolled the next bag after. Silently he held the final bag, feeling the wet mess inside drain to the bottom as he said goodbye. Sam was dead, and it was Mickey’s fault.

It was his father who bared such a viscous hatred towards homosexuals. Despising the thought of even hacking one up in fear of getting aids. Mickey knew his father would kill him if he found out what Mickey had done to himself. Mick could never let himself get lost or distracted ever again, he had to refrain from ever touching a man again. He would vow to himself. He wasn’t going to become a dead faggot sitting in his father’s chair.

He dropped the last bag off the cliff. Turning from the sight quickly before he would find the urge to fall after him. Silently he trekked back to the factory. Once he returned he was shaking, maybe from the cold, maybe from the loss of Sam’s body. He hosed the blood down from the floor, cleaned the bone saw and hooks, before he left and made his way towards the L.

He wasn’t in a clear mindset as he hopped off at his stop, he continued the long way back home to his father’s house, stopping past the convenience store. He felt earning of a litre bottle of vodka. He was wobbling, already heavily intoxicated as he walked out the front of the Milkovich household, looking up at the rotting timber frame. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stare at his father without wanting to kill him. He knew Mandy was probably sitting up nervously waiting for him. But he couldn’t take a step closer, he turned from the house as he walked along the L to Fiona’s instead.

He was pissed, drunk and a complete slobbering mess. It was 4 am as he pounded his fist on her door, banging loudly as he felt the anger push deep within his gut. “Fiona!” He yelled. He kicked at the heavy wooden back door, before taking another swig of the half empty bottle. He wasn’t sure whether it was the anger or the vodka heating his stomach. But with the outside air drying his tears, it made his skin feel cold on the outside. A sense of discomfort that had him painfully reminded of Sam’s dead body.

He could feel the hot liquor burn his raw throat, dissolving his sense of taste as it left him haunting what remained of his conscious, torn between the dark world around him and the heavy slick wet touch of Sam’s blood.

Mick slumped his body defeatedly, resting his head against the door, he couldn’t stop seeing Sam’s wasted body. Couldn’t forget the feeling of his bones giving way as he hacked them apart, the snapping joints of his hips. He groaned in pain and shook his head at the distraught memory.

He almost fell forward once the door expectantly swung open. “Mickey?” A concerned voice asked.

Mickey reached out for the door frame as he lifted his head up. Mickey met blurry stern green eyes. “Ian.” He coughed out from his hoarse voice.

Ian noticed the dark stinging red of his eyes and the deep purple bruising around his face. Mickey was barely able to hold himself up as he reached out to take hold of Ian’s shoulder. “Holy shit you’re wasted.” Ian muttered, taking in the sight of Mickey struggling before him.

“I need…” Mick’s voice fell flat as he blinked, trying to focus the image before him, the lights behind Ian were blinding, bright and swarming deep into his skull, pushing his head back off from his shoulders almost dropping it to the floor behind him. “Fiona.” He finished, reaching Ian’s eyes.

“No.” The tired boy stated calmly, holding his ground as he blocked the door. Mickey’s eyes narrowed, his lips parted to retort as it took him a moment too long to concentrate on a response. Making his intimidation all but pathetic.

“Fuck you!” Mick spat half-heartedly, leaning heavily with one shoulder on the door frame. Allowing himself to bring the vodka bottle forward up to his lips. He was downing another gulp, before he felt the thick glass slip between his fingers. “The fuck?”

Ian took the bottle and held it up to himself reading the label. He scoffed at his cheap choice, before turning to put it back on the table behind him. Ian figured it would be easy to take Mickey’s drink and slip him into bed, but Mick had other ideas.

Mickey felt the anger stir up within him. He was going to yell, but instead his body reacted before the words could form. He stepped inside, taking advantage of what Ian couldn’t defend facing the other way.

He moved without thought as he grabbed Ian’s slender shoulders, shoving him roughly as the boy bent his hips over the kitchen table. Caught by complete surprise as Mick’s heavy weight crashed into him. Denting his hips into the table. “What the fuck Mick?” Ian yelled, quickly letting the bottle go as he gripped the edge of the table, pushing back against Mickey’s hold.

Mickey was quick to catch the bottle before it fell off the table, rolling dangerously close to the edge as it lost a few slashes of liquor from rocking out of the lid. He brought it to his lips, the heat distracting his thoughts once again of Sam’s body’s rocking back and forth. He was lost in the warmth trickling down his throat and the stray drops falling from his lips and slipping down his neck beyond the collar of his shirt.

Ian was stunned by the comforting warmth Mickey provided him, absorbed by his alluring scent that was hidden underneath the swamp of alcohol. He tried not to concentrate on the hips pressed tightly behind him. Ian managed to shove himself away from the table, enough to drive his elbow back, catching Mickey’s stomach as he got himself unpinned.

Mickey spat out his last swallow of alcohol as he coughed out, choking on the potent vodka. The bottle slipped from his shaking hands as it shattered across the floor, the thick liquid pushing the shards around the room. Mickey watched as his last reason to remain in control was smashed before him, it left his hands and stomach uncomfortably bare and clenched. He was distracted by the glittering pieces that caught the light below him. It overwhelmed him with a crumbling sense of sadness, before it turned into the familiar and comforting feeling of anger. Mickey had a habit of always turning his emotions into violence. Especially the ones he couldn’t contain.

With gritted teeth Mickey threw a punch at Ian’s jaw, sending him falling to the floor after the bottle. “What the fuck!” Mick yelled, standing over the bigger boy.

Ian stared up at Mickey, returning his own glare as he pushed his hands against the kitchen floor, sitting himself up. “Keep your hands off me!” He spat, before he propelled himself to stand as he crashed into Mickey, catching his chest as they both stumbled backwards. Mickey landed to the floor with a thump as his foot slipped out underneath him.

Ian was quick and sure as he pushed a hand around Mickey’s throat, leaning across him. Mick was coughing, unable to look at Ian as the blood swelled and sloshed around his ringing head.

Mickey could feel Ian’s fingers tighten into his skin around his neck, the air thinning out around him. His thoughts were beginning to catch up to him, displaying the remains of Sam’s body behind his eyes. The screams were echoing around in his head, mirroring his own faint whines.

Without much thought, Mickey swung his fist at Ian, sending a hit across his cheek as the boy was pushed back by the blow, releasing his hand from around Mick’s throat.

Mickey threw himself onto of the boy, as Ian’s shirt soaked up the spilt vodka. Mickey was crushing Ian’s stomach under his knee as he continued to throw punches. Clipping his jaw, nose and cheeks. It was as the boys hand weakly reached up to hold Mickey’s wrist that Mick forgot why he was hitting him.

He pushed himself away from Ian quickly, staring down at him. Ian was coughing and curling in on himself, his skin littered with dark marks and growing bruises. “Ian I…” He couldn’t focus on the words. The boy had a cut lip, swelling thicker the longer he stood to watch. “I’m so fucked up…” He whispered, the tears swelling in his eyes, Ian was slowly sitting up. “…I need Fiona.” Mickey managed to murmur. Knowing definitely that everything was better when he was caught up in the romanticised domestic with her.

Ian misunderstood Mickey’s statement believing he was only needing Fiona for a fuck. He heaved himself to stand up as he wiped his damp palm against his jean legs. “No fucking way, Mickey.” He muttered, staring at the mess of broken glass all over the floor. It had to be cleaned before the breakfast rush tomorrow. Ian reached Mick’s eyes again, both of them heavy with exhaustion. “Sleep on the couch. Fiona doesn’t need to see you like this.” He pointed out.

Mickey blinked, clenching his hands at his side. “I just need to see her.” He gritted behind his teeth.

Ian frowned, “You’re drunk. At least think over what you want to say to her first.” Ian urged. Mick shook his head, before tugging at the ends of his jacket, finding himself overworked. He knew that Fiona would be pissed to see him like this. He had made a mess, ruined Ian’s pretty face and made the kitchen a hazard. He truly was a Milkovich.

Mickey gave Ian a brief glare, before swallowing back his threadbare pride by falling to his knees, catching himself with the hard cold tiles. He stiffly pushed his hands forward as he attempted to sweep up the broken shards of glass. He was absorbing the vodka into the knees of his jeans and pilling up the splinters.

“Mickey, fuck. Stop.” Ian pleaded. Quickly following Mickey down to the floor, grabbing his wrists and lifting them off from the ground as his blood began to seep into the mixture of colourless booze. “Jesus.” He murmured, knowing it would be stinging like a bitch, beyond the fact that his blood was probably already 2% alcohol.

Thin shards of glass were slicing into the thin skin surrounding Mickey’s fingers and the tough calloused skin of his palms. Ian dragged him to his feet, pulling him over towards the sink. He turned on the tap as he pulled the man’s quivering hands underneath the flow. Mickey was beginning to feel the delayed pain of the glass cutting into his palm as it tore against his skin, being pushed in by the water. Ian didn’t waste time as he washed out the specks of glass and the splintering blood that covered Mickey’s hands. “I can’t be by myself tonight.” Mickey muttered trying to reach Ian’s ears as the boy stood caught up in some weird caring obligation.

Ian was silent watching as the cold water touched both their skins. Mickey knew it felt numb, distant as Ian ran his fingers over his own, making sure to remove the clear glass that Mickey couldn’t see. “I can clean up the mess. Fiona won’t know. I’ll clean up my messes.” Mickey pleaded.

Ian turned off the tap wrapping Mickey’s tattooed and cut up hands in paper towel as his blood slowly seeped into the white sheets. Ian moved on as he picked up a broom and swept up the shards, mopping away the vodka and cleaning up Mickey’s mess.

The man was leant against the bench, staring down regretfully at his boots. His head filled with dark thoughts that left his gut clenching and his fingers trembling. He wished he didn’t drink, didn’t hurt Ian, didn’t fuck up what he had going on with Fiona. He wanted to drop to the floor, let himself cave in, becoming unrecognisable from the crumbs of pancake that decorated the Gallagher household. Most of all, he wanted to forget Sam. He needed to forget. He knew he had to keep moving to starve off the returning memories.

Ian cleaned up the mess, finding himself staring at the man he didn’t really know. He could see Mick’s roughened edges, the side of himself that no one ever really saw. The ugly, drunk wasted fucked up side. Mickey was the shit-talking piece of trash that his sister had to fall in love with. Another sick puppy she brought home. His dark blue eyes were heavy with fear, Ian noticed his thoughts seemed to be scattered, skipping over a haunting nightmare. Mick’s feelings taking over him as his body shook with the sight that only Ian could see in their moment.

Mickey Milkovich knew he was fucked, the strong moral bounds he carried around with himself everyday were slowly dissolving as he let go of everything he valued. What remained within him was hollow. He was becoming the scarce sight of himself that he normally tried to hide from everyone. The short, uncaring, unknowing and uncompromising monster that he familiarised himself with when he went to his darkest times. He was finding himself walking in the dark alleyway, where his father’s footsteps laid, untouched.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, bringing the man from his thoughts. Dark eyes met his as Mick pushed himself from the bench waiting for him to tell him to piss off. “Fiona doesn’t need you drunk and causing shit.” Mickey nodded, looking down again, ashamed of his actions. “Our father is a drunk.” Ian admitted, “You never want to find yourself being associated with him.” Mickey stepped past Ian, heading for the door. He wasn’t able to hear it anymore, he knew what little value a fucked up failed father meant to his kids.

He was caught off guard as the Ian’s hands caught his shoulders, stopping him from leaving. “Fuck ups are a speciality within our family.” Ian’s eyes stared straight through Mick’s frail confidence. “If you’re going to be one of us… it’s better to deal with it together. If you’ve got a problem…” Ian let his eyes fall briefly, questioning his own benefit from being loaded-up with more shit to handle. “You can talk to me.”

Mickey didn’t know what Ian was doing, he wasn’t drunk enough to forget the daggers the boy would normally send him each morning. Why would he care now, especially after seeing him at his lowest point, “The fuck would you want to know?” He grumbled, breaking out of the tall boy’s grasp and continuing to push through towards the door. Avoiding his green distracting eyes.

The space between them diminished again as Ian was quick to grab him, spinning his shoulder and shoving him up against the door before he could open it. Mickey stumbled back startled, hitting the back of his head with a grunt. Mickey was going to return the pain but stared up into Ian’s bruised face, masked with a rough snarl. “What the fuck?” Mickey spat raising his hands, but not willing to push him away. Ian took hold of Mickey’s shirt as he held him tightly, pulling him from the door again, before roughly shoving him back, knocking his head as he grunted a second time at the pain.

Ian stared into the blue of Mick’s red eyes, tightening his fists in his soft shirt. Ian had never really seen Mickey up close as he took in the light grooves of his features, heavy with guilt and remorse.

Mickey sighed, letting Ian hold him as he looked away. Slouching in the boys hold, finding himself in need of someone else to carry his weight for a change. He causally fished out the packet of cigarettes from his back pocket, before lighting it up and taking in a drag. He blew the smoke out above them, knowing it was pissing Ian off.

“What happened?” Ian asked, not relenting his hold as he continued to search Mickey’s face.

Mickey shrugged his shoulder against the door, letting himself comfortably rest his head back, starring up at the water stained ceiling.

Ian let his eyes drop to the exposed skin of his neck, traced with a light stubble. Ian suddenly hiked Mickey closer from the fabric of his shirt before shoving him back again, Mick’s head thumping against the door. “What the fuck is you’re problem!” Ian spat, needing him to give him something.

The alcohol moving through Mick’s veins was like a thick sponge, his head was stinging, and his whole body worn out from the day, there wasn’t much left in him for a fight. Ian drew him in once again towards his stomach preparing to shove him back again. As Mickey’s free hand hurriedly clawed at Ian’s.

Finally retaliating as Mick held his hand, dropping his head to face Ian’s stern green eyes. “Things like you!” Mickey gritted through his teeth.

Ian blinked at him, confused. Mick didn’t want to explain, couldn’t.

Instead he threw his head forward, head butting Ian off from him. The boy stumbled back with a shout as he raised a hand to grab at his already swelling nose. He brought his hand back to look down at the lightly flowing blood in his palm. Ian wiped it off on his shirt, turning on Mickey quickly.

Ian threw a solid punch into his stomach and gave a sharp uppercut to his jaw. Mick's head was thrown back before he shook off the pain. Looking back at Ian while putting out the cigarette underneath his boot, readying himself for more.

Ian watched as the man before him continued to stand, even though his head was spinning, and his eyes barely focused on what was in front of him. Ian gulped knowing that what he recognised in Mickey was the sight of a man who wanted to get himself killed.

Mickey threw another punch, severely missing Ian as swung at the air next to him. He fell forward following the punch as Ian caught his shoulder and arm. Pulling him through the motion, spinning him around, and pushing his chest roughly into the door. Pinning him with his hips as he provoked a low grunt from the back of Mickey’s throat.

Mickey was shoving back against his hips, trying to break out of his certain hold. But he just kept meeting the hard lines of Ian’s muscles. He pushed his hips against the door throwing himself back against the boy’s hold but found himself losing space rather than gaining it as Ian refused to back down.

Ian’s breath was warm against the back of Mick’s neck as he felt the man’s body drain from the feeling of anger. “You’re drunk Mickey.” Ian murmured into his ear. He loosened his hold on Mickey’s shoulders as the man stopped fighting. “You really need to sleep it off.”

Mick’s breath picked up and thickened at his words as the blood quickly drained from his face to his hardening dick. Caught up in the close proximity and the firm contact Ian was providing. He was choking on the hot air in front of him as he felt Ian’s warmth spread across his back, feeling each miniscule movement from Ian’s hand as it traced down his shoulder to press at his hip. He was getting hard just from the feeling of Ian over him. The push of Ian’s body felt wrong, mirroring the action he promised to never commit again.

Mickey closed his eyes as he watched the haunting image of Sam’s dead body hang limp from the hooks, swinging back and forth with each jarring push. Remembering the blood, the garbage bags and the shit he’ll have to deal with when he gets home.

Ian breathed in a stuttered breath as he pushed a hand to Mickey’s back, squeezing his shoulder. Before grinding his hips over along Mick’s arse, the boy's warm breath picking up as it fanned out quicker across Mick's neck. Ian desperately wrapped an arm around Mickey's front, heaving his back up against his chest and pulling him tightly towards his stomach.

Mickey shut his eyes, he didn’t want to hear Ian. He didn’t want to see Sam. He didn’t want to feel anything but himself. He was way too caught up in what he didn’t want as Ian pushed his hips roughly up against the door, rubbing his dick against the smooth surface that he was held between. Ian let his lips faintly trace along the pale skin at his neck. Mick released a groaned, dropping his head to the door. “Fuck.” He breathed out, wanting to rut up against the friction provided between the door and Ian’s firm hips.

Ian roughly pulled him back from the door, as he leant Mickey’s body upon his. Provoking a deep moan from the man as he rolled his head back to rest it on Ian’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the security Ian could provide. Mick caught Ian’s sudden intake of air as he could feel the boy’s own dick pulsing in interest.

“Fuck, Ian?” Mickey mumbled, not believing that it was his girlfriend’s brother holding him up.   

“You’re too fucking desperate.” Ian whispered huskily, letting his warm breath spread along his neck, sending chills down the man’s spine. Mickey pushed a hand against the door, using it to gain leverage as he ground his hips back against Ian’s dick.

It was no longer by thought as Mickey responded to Ian’s body. He was lost in the physical push and drag. In his head he was screaming, imagining Sam lying limp on the plastic sheets, feeling the giveaway snap of his bones. But he couldn’t stop himself from feeling the relief of stress, the relief of fear as the push and drag was all that he could focus on. He began to whimper brokenly, pushing harder against Ian’s body, desperately. The alcohol was working well to remove the family history from the boy behind him, he couldn’t even begin to think of Fiona.

Ian felt himself shiver at the faint noises Mickey was making, he sounded so broken it had Ian’s stomach clenching in discomfort as Mick continued to push back harder and harder. Losing himself between his girlfriend’s brother and the door. Ian could tell the man wasn’t straight in his head, he was drunk, washing away the memories of the night, only needing a body to throw himself upon. Ian was pretty certain Mickey wasn’t a fag, just merely relying on anything to get himself off as he hit rock bottom.

Ian swallowed thickly as he quickly stepped back, releasing Mickey’s hips and only holding his shoulders until the man found his own balance. Ian had woken up to what was happening between them, knowing their situation was only the output of half a bottle of vodka. Mickey protested at the loss of friction before he turned to see who was touching him. Ian’s eyes were dark, his hair a mess and his nose swollen with dried blood.

He met Mickey’s eyes cautiously, “Take Lip’s room. His at university.” He pried his eyes away from Mickey’s as his bright blue hues was coloured by lust and tinted with a pitiful obligation. Leaving Ian feeling eerily responsible. He left the man, needing to escape to his own room and work himself out of his tightening pants. Hurriedly he turned and walked up the stairs, avoiding the man’s wanting eyes and heavy breath. He had to stay away, as he tried to ignore his own discomfort and need to get off.

Mickey watched the boy head upstairs, his chest heaved with the need to follow him. He wanted to tug his pants down around his ankles and have him take him quick and hard. The feeling of guilt caught up to him as his stomach swelled, remembering his vow to never get involved with a man again. “Fuck.” He gritted behind his teeth as he kicked his boot at the door. He was going to leave but as he opened the door, the cold air swept up through the layers of his clothes. He had nowhere else to go. Sleeping under the L wasn’t what he wanted.

He closed the door and trudged himself up the stairs, he hesitantly glance at Ian’s shut door. He continued past Fiona’s room as he slipped himself inside Lip’s room. It had the distinct stench of cigarettes, as it stirred his own need for a smoke.

He pried the crushed packet from his back pocket as he lit up, closing the door and taking off his jacket, before continuing with his shirt and singlet before flicking the belt of his jean. He kicked off his boots and found himself in only his underpants lying in Lip’s bed. He closed his eyes, drawing in deep breaths of smoke.

Mickey felt the cold air tingle along his arms and across his bare chest. He was hard, trying not to think of Ian or Sam. There wasn’t much he could do to stir away the thick dreaded weight of guilt.

He found himself too far morally gone as he traced a hand down his chest before dipping it beneath the waistband of his underpants. His other hand raised the cigarette to his lips before he left it between his teeth. He lifted the waistband as he dragged it down the curve of his arse and released his erection. He felt dirty and disgusting. The contact from Ian had certainly sobered him up, but not enough to wear down the stirring emotion within his gut.

With both hands he wrapped them around his dick, moving it hard and fast. He tried to convince himself that he came thinking of Fiona’s tits, but he knew that it was to the feel of Ian’s warm body pressed against his.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small detail of Graphic Violence near the end of this chapter.

 

Mickey shot up startled, reaching out in front of him as the pinch of searing flesh woke him up from his nightmares. Slowly the steel metal pipes of the factory began to soften into textured layers of sheets as the warm sun filtered across the bed.

His heart was thumping erratically in his chest, echoing loudly around the room. He woke up with the sight of Sam fresh on his mind.

Uncomfortably he pried his tangle legs from the sheets, and move with trembling fingers towards the door. His head was heavy to hold as he rested it against the wall in the bathroom, as he stood to take a piss. There were faint noises surrounding him in the house, drowned out by the haunting screams, howling within his head.

His face felt numb as the blood drained away from his swelling injuries. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, finding his own ugly mug. Cuts and bruises scarred deep into his pale skin, his eyes weighted down by stress and fear. He wondered what Ian would look like today, whether his eyes were marked by a similar smack of blue.

Mickey thought about what Sam would have looked like today if he wasn’t taken by the Milkovich’s yesterday. Seeing his dark hair flopped over his eyes, the young man he was with curled up into his side. The feel-good aching of post-sex bliss. Mick would have been waking up to Fiona’s wide eyes, watching him with more emotion then he could comprehend.

Wearily he made his way downstairs, stepping quietly into the kitchen. He had a desire for a warm cup of coffee as his head thumped with the stinging pain of a hangover. He blinked as the sun swamped throughout the entire floor, highlighting the shiny metal of knives and forks recently washed, waiting in a drying rake.

He stumbled forward aiming to grab onto the counter as his head ached. “Good afternoon.” A tired voice called from the lounge room. Mickey turned his head quick, snapping his neck to face Lip who sat flicking through channels on the muted TV. He seemed patience enough.

“Hey, Lip.” Mickey muttered behind his sleep groggy voice. Taking a desperate hold onto the cold kitchen bench as he switched on the coffee machine. He began to shuffle through the cups, before finding a used one and rinsing it in the sink.  

Mick could hear Lip make his way into the kitchen, the Uni student sighed as he stretched popping his back and leaning his hip against the bench to stare across at Mickey. The boy was stunned, as he looked up catching sight of Mick’s smashed in face.

Lip’s lounging ended quick as he pushed himself to stand, “Holy shit? You get in a fight last night?” He asked, moving closer to access the damage.

“Oh, Nah. Just…” Mick couldn’t think of an excuse, so instead shrugged filling his cup with the boiling coffee and bringing it surely to his lips. The distraction was worth the burning liquid that shred down his throat.

Lip continued to stare at the bruises on Mick’s face and followed the dented marks of fingerprints down his neck. He wondered who would strangle Mickey, he had wanted him dead.

Fiona was surprised when Lip told her that her boyfriend was crashed out in his room. She poked her head in, seeing his arms folded up against his chest as he slept. She shrugged not bothered as she left for work.

After an awkward silence in the kitchen, Mickey cleared his burnt throat. “Hey, sorry about taking you’re bed last night. I didn’t want to wake up Fiona when I got back late.” Mickey apologised barely reaching Lip’s eyes.

Lip shrugged, moving to the fridge and fishing out an orange. “That’s fine, I only got home about three hours ago anyway. Not like I needed the bed. But I will tonight.” He warned.

Mickey swallowed thickly, he silently hoped he would still have a space room to escape to. Fiona would want him out and Ian would want him dead. Along with Mick’s father and brothers. This safety now, wasn’t forever. His chest tightened as Lip nodded, peeling away his orange and walking up the stairs into his room. Mickey had to go home, face his father.

-

By 2pm, Mickey had already gone four laps around his street. He was avoiding heading home. His fingers were trembling as he had already burnt through the most of his cigarette packet, fiddling with the last filter between his lips, hesitating whether or not to light it. Knowing it would only give him another 10 minutes of an excuse before he would need to face his father anyway.

Mickey’s memory was jumping like scattered dice as the events of the evening were divided between his self-hatred and the horrid fucking feeling of fear.

He thought of never being able to fuck a guy without the distinct knowledge of Sam’s death on his hands. Couldn’t come out as a poofter, no fucking way. And he was feeling a sinking weight in the pit of his stomach as he worried about ruining what he has going on with Fiona, all because of her ‘twinky’ younger brother.

He was feeling even more fucked up the longer he dwelled on it. He decided that perhaps facing his father was an easier event to deal with rather than thinking about the complex mix of his own moral strengths. With his dad, at least he knew there was no point in coming up with an excuse, his father always assumed the worst in everyone.

With cold fingers he opened the front door, pushing in the outside light. The house smelt like the familiar stench of mould. With boot scuffs dirtying the walls, and piss stains covering the couch. But it didn’t feel homely at all. The once passive acceptance stance he took with the way the house was run was finally becoming more of an active resistance as he frowned at the dishevelled features of their house.

He craved the pancake smell of a kitchen, the breezy sunlight that managed to make even the coldest days warm. He missed people taking an interest in him. He missed Fiona.

Mick closed the door behind him, as he cautiously stepped further inside. Avoiding the crumpled beer cans as he manoeuvred towards his bedroom. Startled as he caught sight of his sister in his room lying sprawled out on the mattress. She wore a stiff dress, her hair matted around her forehead as she wheezed out slightly.

He blinked at her, wondering whether to wake her, to ease the panic and exhaustion from her features. Lightly he moved to sit next to her, keeping his eyes locked on the door in case his father was to arise and plummet his fists into his face.

Mandy awoke a minute later, her eyes were red and heavy as she reached up to touch his shoulder. Mick stared down at her, loving the soft smile pushing at her lips, even though he could tell she was hurt and afraid. He lied down next to her, watching the ceiling.

“Where were you?” She whispered, not taking her eyes off him.

“Fiona’s house.” He replied honestly.

Mandy shifted awkwardly, “This that girl you fuck?” She asked, her choice of words rougher than her soft voice.

He nodded, smirking as he looked over to her. “I crashed in her brother’s room last night. Got there too late.” He muttered, the truth of what happened buried quickly underneath his words.

She rolled up onto her elbow, sighing out. “Dad came home and was shouting things.” Her fingers ran through her hair, frustrated. “Stupid idiot doesn’t get it.” She muttered looking at the space between them. 

“What did he say?” Mickey asked, feeling dread wash over him as he knew his father would always assume the worse. Although in this situation, surely he didn’t need to assume anything.

“Better not.” She whispered, holding herself tight together. He knew his father would have talked shit, made sure to recount to his family what had happened to their faggot prodigy.

“Mandy-” A beg was balancing on his tongue, but Mandy wouldn’t let him crush his pride before he heard his father’s words.

“He called you a fuck up.” She told him, swallowing and clearing her throat. “An elf that wants to work with the fairies.”

Mickey blinked, surprised by his father’s insult. It took a while for the words to sink in between them, staining his cheek with tears as he blinked up at the ceiling. It was expected. His father wasn’t dumb when it came to impressions. The man was a murder for fucksakes, he knew when someone was lying. It was hard to lie when you stare into the eyes of the devil.

“Mickey?” Mandy asked, placing a hand to his shoulder. Mick moved away from her touch, quickly sitting up on the bed, dropping his feet to the floor as he let his head hang between his shoulders. He sighed deeply, folding his hands in his lap.

“Terry want me gone?” He mumbled, not daring to revisit his voice as he knew it would break if he pushed it any further.

Mandy looked away from her brother’s slouched shoulders. She knew her father wanted him gone, wanted him dead. Mick had embarrassed their family name. Not that it would matter to anyone but Terry. But then again his father did own the house, making it his choice, even if it was Mandy that nurtured it. Meaninglessly.

“Mick you can stay, I’ll talk to him. I’m sure it was just a thing of the moment.” Mandy offered. Her voice was weak, a statement she had to give for family. But deep down she was just as terrified of her father.

“No, I’ll talk to him.” He mumbled, standing and rubbing his face. Mick felt dead inside already, what difference will the outside make. He wouldn’t let his sister get the beating for her brother’s stupid behaviour. “When is he getting back?”

“Tonight. He had another job this morning. Took Iggy and Chris with him.” Mandy explained, moving off the bed and standing too.

Mickey turned back to her, recognising the dress again and the smudge of makeup along her face. He didn’t need to ask to know that she would have been told to work the corner last night. He opened his arms to her as she fell forward into his embrace.

“I’ll make it up to dad.” Mickey murmured, knowing it was exactly what Mandy needed to hear.

-

Mickey had a shower and tidied up his room. He prepared a bag full of all his clothes and threw it out the window, just in case. He was either going to be beat to a pulp, kicked out or given complete forgiveness. He highly doubted the last one.

It was nearing 11pm as the front door swung open. The loud thunder of boots hit the ground as they shuffled through into the kitchen. Mandy had made pasta, she had kept it heated over the stove for the past half hour. Mickey was sitting on the couch, watching the football on mute as he tried to clear his head from his impending doom.

His father was the last to walk inside, his successful son’s walking ahead into their rooms completely oblivious to Mickey’s presence. His father wasn’t as vague. He stopped dead in his tracks. Meeting Mick’s hard blue eyes as he gritted his teeth at his presence.

Mick pulled himself to his feet, standing before his father. Terry’s face began to turn red, his eyes narrowing into a hard glare as he waited for the pleas of forgiveness. Mick remained emotionless, holding his head high and staring at the devil. “Son?” Terry spat, edging him on.

“Father, join us for dinner.” Mandy quipped, serving out five bowls of pasta. Terry held Mick’s eyes before muttering under his breath and shuffling pasts him. Loudly dragging the chair out to sit at the head of the table, already digging into the meal.

Mickey blinked as he continued to stare at the empty space before him. He knew his father would be watching him from the table, so he trudged himself into the very next seat. The table was soon filled by everyone as Mandy gave out small peace-settling smiles.

Chris was confused by Mick’s presence at the table, especially after he had to take his place, hacking apart some young man’s limbs. He couldn’t even stare at the red tomato sauce either. Iggy on the other hand was watching his elder brother with hatred. He had managed to claim his father’s love, he was feeling pride, like he was finally being seen by their father.

Terry didn’t look up until he had finished two bowls of pasta. His eyes eventually raised to Mick’s, not leaving them until they were met.

Mandy moved hastily around the table, clearing plates as she tried to keep an eye out on her father and brother.

“There’s a job for you tomorrow.” Terry grumbled, tightening his hands on the table. “If you stay here tonight, you do the job. If you don’t, then never come back.” Terry’s eyes showed no bullshit, it was his choice. That or being better off dead. Mick nodded letting him know he heard.

Terry looked down at himself, before pushing away from the table and standing to move his way inside his room. The door slamming shut behind him as Mickey swallowed thickly, breathing in his first deep breath.

Mickey paced around in his room, it was nearing 4 am as he watched his bag on his bed. He had retrieved it from outside, but was torn between deciding to stay and kill again, or leaving and losing his only family. He would miss Mandy, and he knew she would miss him too. He sat on the bed, throwing himself back as he stared up at the ceiling.

He closed his eyes seeing Fiona smiling up at him. Her wicked eyes glinting as her tongue spread along his waist down towards his dick. He knew he wanted her. Of course he did. He wondered if he could show Terry that he was straight, let his father know that he was just a wimp rather than a faggot.

That way he could have both families, invite Mandy and Fiona into his world. He smirked thinking of bringing her here. He would have to rip off all of his posters, he wouldn’t want her seeing the ‘keep out’ signs or anything lame. He continued to think of Fiona, before green eyes pushed forward and he thought of Ian’s stern gaze as he had Mick pinned to the floor.

The trace of the boy’s slender fingers over his skin, the disappointment burning in his gaze. Mickey moved his fingers to rest over his neck where Ian’s were once pressed. Weirdly, Mick enjoyed disappointing Ian, wanted to see him get angry, get the boy’s hands out of his pockets and onto his body.

Mick lifted his head, looking down at his groin as his dick tried to tent his tight jeans. He tossed his head back, sighing out. He would have to get rid of that problem another day.

-

If the daylight burning outside was any indication for the world burning before his eyes, Mickey didn’t know what else would. It was pushing into the late afternoon as Mick remained hanging around the house. His father wasn’t up, his door remained tightly shut as well as his brothers.

Mandy and Mick enjoyed the early start as they sat together, watching TV and trying to ignore the pushing threat of Terry’s job. It was being to turn dark and Mickey’s chest was tightening uncomfortable as the day dragged on and on.

There was only a two footstep warning before the front door swung open. Terry stepped inside, his eyes finding Mickey’s as he indicated for him to follow him outside.

Mick felt like a zombie as he stood from the couch, barely giving Mandy any goodbye as he followed his father to the car. Where he had horribly parked, his two other brothers in the back. Mickey was confused, he thought the gang were asleep, enjoying the late afternoon. But now he knows they would have been up before 8am. A bad feeling settled in Mick’s gut.

“To the factory.” Terry muttered, taking the passenger seat as Mick began to reverse out of the gutter.

The trip felt longer as Mickey tried to work out what was happening, he knew the job would normally consist of getting a guy first. Not already having one. Unless they were bringing the guy to the factory already. In the boot? Mickey tried to compare driving with and without a body in the boot. But he couldn’t really find a difference, his brothers in the back always managed to weigh it down either way.

They pulled up to the factory. “Okay boys.” Terry directed to his son’s in the back as he gestured for Mick to get out of the car, the eldest son followed the order, standing awkwardly as his brothers moved to the boot. Shuffling around guns, Chris meeting his eyes before looking down nervously.

“Come in Mick.” Terry said, opening the door and clearing his throat. Stretching his hands.

Mickey knew the situation was fucked. He knew he was going to be dead to his family one way or another. He ducked his head, stepping inside as his father held the door for him. Whistling at his other two boys, before following inside.

Mick firstly noticed the bareness of the factory. There was no one there, no one in the boot. His chest tightened as his breaths became erratic. He was going to die.

Terry closed the door behind Chris and Iggy. “Mick, take a seat.” Terry offered, pulling out a packet of something from his back pocket and waiting expectantly. Mick licked his lips, staring at the plastic seat. This was it. He was going to die. He stepped forward, dropping himself in it.

Terry smirked, “Tie him, Iggy.” He watched as Mick remained still, letting his younger brother tear at the skin of his wrists with rope burn. Pulling tighter and tighter as he became glued to the chair. His feet tied together and hands tied behind his back. Chris was shaking nervously, “Get the hose, Chris.” Terry directed as he popped out a tablet from the packet he was holding.

Mickey tried to catch sight of the tablets but couldn’t see beyond the itching pain of his constricted muscles. Iggy stood next to his father, collecting the hose off Chris as he went to stand by the tap.

Terry approached Mickey, “You know what this is?” He asked, holding out the white tablet, his eldest son blinked at the sight. “Of course you do, you use it every time I give you a job.” His father’s smile was bricked by teeth. His father snapped as he reached out, clenching his hand around Mickey’s neck. He shook him before prying open his mouth and shoving the tablet down his throat. “Iggy the hose.” The water splashed up along Mickey’s feet before soaking into his shirt and becoming pumped down his throat, flushing the roofies into his system.

His father laughed at the sight of his struggling son. The cold water assaulted his body, externality and internally. Mickey was trying to cough out the water that drowned in his lungs. It was once his father’s smile faltered that the hose was turned off.

Mickey heaved out a lot of water, the tablet including. His father chuckled. Reaching for another tablet, before deciding to make it two. He shoved them down Mickey’s throat once again, repeating the action with the hose.

Terry was wanting to hold his son down under the hose. Until he learnt how to swallow it all, like the good little bitch boy he would be. Swallowing down all of the faggots cum, buckets after buckets dripping over his lips and getting all in his hair.

“Cut the hose.” Terry shouted to Chris as the water stopped flowing. Terry clamped his hand over Mickey’s mouth. Mick couldn’t breathe, he swallowed as much as he could, feeling it pass thickly into his stomach. His father’s dark eyes stared disappointedly at him, half hoping his son wouldn’t be able to swallow it, wouldn’t be gay. A dead drowned boy instead.

“We’ve been working hard all morning.” Terry began, once Mick had stopped swallowing and began breathing. “Decided to make it real special for you.” He smirked. Looking up at the hanging hook above. Cautiously Mick followed his father’s eyes, seeing the noose attached to the same hook that had once been in Sam’s ankle.

Fuck. He knew he was going to die.

The roofies had begun to kick in, Mickey couldn’t speak or fight as his father’s hands slipped his head into the rope. Kicking the chair out from underneath him as he fell to the floor. Already feeling the tight tug of rope against his throat.

“Get the bucket.” Terry spat, squatting and wrapping his hand into his son’s hair, pulling his head back to meet his eyes. “You really fucked up a lot of things Mick. It’s important that you never do it again.” He accepted the large wide bucket from Iggy as he dropped it in front of Mickey’s head. “You’re the only one of my son’s to have my dark hair, you know that? You are the exact image of me.” His father chuckled, “Maybe just as defiant as me.”

No words could have hurt any more than the ones comparing him to his father.

Terry stood, impetuously tugging on the rope and bringing Mickey up into the sky by the muscles of his neck.

Mickey’s body thrashed, weakly trying to lift off his neck. But the roofies and his tied hands made it impossible. He could feel the air soak out of his lungs, dissipating. He wasn’t breathing it out, he couldn’t. He couldn’t intake any oxygen either. He was just hovering between the sight of the bright white lights and the deep echo of his father’s enjoyment.

He was dropped from the heavens as his knees hit the ground. His chest thumping into the hard concrete as he drew in deep breathes. He couldn’t move, he wasn’t able to scream or shout. His head was becoming fuzzy, perhaps it was the lack of oxygen or maybe it was the roofies. But he was slowly becoming more and more accepting of his death. His father filled the bucket with water, as he dragged Mickey towards it by the rope around his neck.

His son was fading out, murmuring incoherently. Terry grabbed the scruff of Mickey’s shirt and dropped him into the bucket. Mick was fighting against it, managing to push his chest away from the ground, getting his nose out of the water.

Terry slipped his foot inside the noose between his son’s pale extended neck and the thick rope. Placing his foot flat to the bottom of the bucket as it brought Mickey’s head underneath. His son’s lungs filled with the cold water. Feeling the rough scrap of his father’s boot against his stubble as he tried to push away. He was numb and delayed, unable to save himself from his father. Terry felt little resistance from Mickey’s body, he enjoyed the use of roofies. Made the job easy without all that screaming.

His father kicked his foot out from the noose, before hiking his son back up into the air, watching as he dangled like a dead fish, the fight leaving his body.

“I love you Mickey.” Terry whispered, just so only he could hear. Not that he’ll remember it. “This is just so you know for next time. If you let one of these fuckers go, they’ll kill you. Just like you want to kill me now.” He smiled, dropping the rope and letting his body fall limp to the floor with a thump. “You do anything for survival.” He chuckled turning and spreading his arm wide and glorious to his other son’s, “Welcome him back into the family.”

 


	8. Chapter Eight

 

Mickey was sat underneath the L, it had been three weeks and 18 missed calls from Fiona. He felt lost inside, he didn’t have an opinion, and didn’t have a voice anymore. The dark sky above him hid his slumped shoulders amongst shadows as he easily bled into the background. He could feel the electricity in the air, and the jump in the muscles underneath his eyes.

He hadn’t slept for those three weeks. Each second was haunted by the push of blood out of leaking wounds. He had seen bodies drained and felt the breath leave swollen chests. The Milkovich family had a way of making a mess out of everything, even murder had to be committed under the most goriest ways.

Mick hadn’t been near any gay clubs since his mistake with Sam. He hadn’t dared think about it, instead he reminded himself of Sam’s deconstructed body. He started to become desensitised to the thought. Mickey spent most night staring at the TV and staying beside Mandy, he needed the stability. Mandy would ask every now and then about Fiona, reminding her brother about how much she wanted to meet her.

His breath was puffing out in warm breaths as he tightened his arms around himself. It was mid-winter, yet he couldn’t stand sitting another night next to his father. He pushed to his feet, needing to walk mindlessly around or freeze his arse off. He purposefully avoided Fiona’s street. He figured that she would eventually stop calling, assuming instead that he was dead.

With shaking fingers Mick raised a cigarette to his lips, he quickly lit it up and breathed in the warm fumes. He felt the uneven gravel beneath his boots as he stepped between rusted abandoned shopping trollies.

His skin felt itchy, he wanted to scratch and peel away the layers until he found his soul. If he could see it, then he would believe it. Until then he saw himself as just a smudge of his father’s shadow.

His sodden footsteps were loud in the quiet streets, he had run out of cigarettes and didn’t want to bribe one out of his brothers. Instead he made the trek to the ‘Kash and Grab.’ He moved slowly with his head ducked down to his chest, as he slipped a few packets of chips into his pockets. He shoved two small cartons of milk down his pants before grabbing a pack of gum and making his way to the counter. “Can I also get two packs of blues.” Mick directed dropping the gum between them and fishing out a few notes.

“Mickey?” A voice asked, his head snapped up to face the soft voice. His eyes were wide as he took in the sight of Ian standing before him. “Where the actual fuck have you been?” The boy continued to question.

Scratching the back of his neck with his dirt covered nails Mickey frowned, “I’ve just been busy.” He lied, avoiding his opaque green eyes that bore deep into his. Ian’s slender shoulders had a sense of balance to it, his ruffled hair endearing as he seemed to lean as close to Mickey as the plastic counter between them would allow.

Mickey couldn’t believe the boy was stood before him, he never expected to see him again. He was determined to avoid temptations like him, especially those with such red hair. He purposefully avoided thinking about him and their night. He didn’t want to think about his warm chest pressed tightly against his back.

“Fiona’s been going crazy.” Ian admitted, shuffling underneath the bench to grab the cigarettes. His lightly freckled skin standing bright underneath the artificial white light. His green eyes flicked back up to Mickey’s face. “Is everything okay?” Ian asked quietly, sorting through the money. “After...” He wet his lips, not daring to say what ever happened between them.

Mick cleared his throat, shoving the gum and cigarettes into his pocket. “That wouldn’t have made a difference.” He muttered, taking a step back. He wanted to tell Ian he was sorry, he wanted to trace his fingers over the healed skin of his face and walk him home. He wanted to apologise to Fiona and be embraced by her arms. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets after the stolen items and nodded him goodbye.

Ian called out after him, his sweet voice getting rough with frustration. Mickey didn’t turn back, instead he walked purposefully back to the L, skipping over Fiona’s house and disappearing into his dark filth ridden street.

He paused outside the crumpled Milkovich house, his hands wrapped around the metal chain link gate, as he breathed in deeply.

He could feel the anger spit low in his gut, his knuckles turning white because of how hard he gripped the gate. It had been festering underneath his skin, pinching at his muscles with each step. And with each grin and clap on the shoulder Terry would send. He wanted to tear everything apart, he couldn’t remain dormant for ever. The anger in his stomach was rising, it was choking him thickly as he tried to push past the thought.

His feet were thudding gently up the steps, before his pushed open the front door. Walking aimlessly into the kitchen he shuffled through the stolen items in his pockets. He kept the cigarettes in his pockets as he sat back into a seat at the kitchen table, his blue eyes glazed over.

It was the smug smirk of his father that was gouged into the cells of his brain, he couldn’t stop seeing it. Every step, nudge, smile, shout, shit or curse Mickey made was his father’s proud achievement. He stared into his son’s eyes with a reverent promise to nurture him. Nurture him with beer and whores. The two things that could destroy a man.

Mandy was zig zagging around the kitchen, preparing spaghetti and tomato paste for the fifth night in a row.

Mickey had managed to settles his anger by remembering Sam’s blistered face. It had managed to kill every boner his had since. But there was something so luring about Ian. The gently crease in his eyes as he expressed care for the tattooed man, his pink lips pursed in question. At the same time it doused Mick’s fire and exploded it. He wanted to crash into Ian and then at the same time tear him away. Ian had his head spinning, as it twisted his stomach in worry and softened his jaw in surrender.

Terry’s ugly voice could be heard from the lounge room, his sneering bellow could shake the earth apart. Mick didn’t want to spend another night here, he couldn’t face his father’s grinning success.

He couldn’t be his father’s grinning success.

He had to fucking fight. He laid his hands against the kitchen table, pushing desperately against the sturdy wood. He wanted to shred the entire house down. Wanted to rip it apart and burn it into oblivion.

Mandy served out five bowls of pasta, her hand briefly squeezing over Mickey’s before she began to eat. The rest of the family fumbled into their seats.

Mick’s breathing was steady, even as his heart thumped rapidly against his chest. There was a wire mesh wrapped around his lungs, forcing each inch of space back in on itself. The fury of rage pushed against the metal, searing its imprint into his muscles.

Terry began to gloat about his gambling winnings, the air in his words and the flick of his wrist caught his son’s eyes. The venom pumping thickly through Mick’s blood was dissolving into his brain. It blurred his vision, as it contorted the smiling image of his father into a bleeding red cut.

“Mickey?”

He couldn’t swallow down the sweet tomato dressing any longer as he ran his tongue along his red stained teeth. The thin metal shards were splitting, the heat moulding them around Mickey’s heart as he breathed in deeper.

“Mick?”

He wanted to fight, he wanted to be his own person. He wanted to fucking live for once.

“The fuck’s wrong with him.”

The devil stared back at him, his cold blue eyes too similar to Mickey’s own as he watched a mirror reflection of himself. The man before him was chuckling, his hand clapped over Mick’s shoulder. His voice a deep rumble.

Mickey stood to his feet, his fists burning red hot as he tightened his fingers around the neck of his father’s beer bottle. The cold condensation seeped into his palm, soaking his father’s fingerprint into his skin. With a slip of his wrist he shattered the bottle on the corner of the table, before lunging his other hand around his father’s throat.

Terry yelped, taken back as Mickey’s hand grasped around his throat.

They were drenched by a brief splintering silence.

“Fuck you.” His son spat, his eyes hardened and narrowed upon the wrinkled sneer of his father’s face.

The man couldn’t help but release a slight chuckle. There had been so many men in this world that wanted to kill him, he very much doubted that a young boy, who was his son would be the one to complete it.

“Mickey don’t!” Mandy cried, her scared eyes focusing on the sharp edges of the bottle. The two brothers sat stiffly, Iggy wanted to act on his thoughts, but could see the glint of manic in Mickey’s eye, knowing he wouldn’t stand a half-arse chance.

“I am not your son.” Mick spat, hating where the dark ink had sunk into his skin permanently over his knuckles. It was undeniable, that it was his father resting below him. With the very same ‘FUCK U-UP’ tattoo.

Terry leaned forward, his teeth clenched tight as the muscles around his chin jumped in anger. “You’re more Milkovich than you realise… son.” He jeered, his eyes alight with torment.

His son’s eyebrows dented in frustration, his hand shaking as he tried to maintain his grip on reality. The inherent violence was burnt through his brain, he couldn’t deny how much he craved to see his father’s death, to see the muscles in his face loosen before the thick skin on his body would dissolve under several layers of dirt.

Milkovich’s always choose violence.

Everyday that Mickey had lived, had been taunted by his father. The rough touch of his fists and the bite of his voice. Being the oldest son, he was the one who witnessed the punctured heart of his mother and the swollen bruises of his father’s mistakes. He was once filled with easy giggles and unmarred skin. But he was born his father’s son.

Silently, Mickey speared the sharp shards into his father’s thick throat. Slicing the heavy skin that drooped from his chin. Clogging his windpipe with broken glass and flooding his lungs with blood.

A moment of shock passed between all his children. His blue eyes widened, taking in the light of Mickey’s own eyes and his stern frown. Words died on his tongue as the air escaped his charcoal lungs.

Relief swarmed Mick’s stomach as he let the glass bottle slip from his frozen fingers. The remaining bottle shattered against the timbre floor, flicking splintered pieces underneath their boots. Following the sound was Mandy’s scream of despair as she gaped at the red welts spewing out of her father’s neck.

Mickey watched Terry’s eyes, recognising the familiar pain and fear that coarse through all his victim’s eyes. The shiver that spread through his body and the stutter of his hands as he tried to cover the wound. Attempting to contain the contents of his leaking body.

His sister shoved him aside, kneeling before her father and covering the wound with paper towel. The red blood seeped persistently through each layer, painting the white paper a chilling crimson. Mick blinked at the sight, he couldn’t speak, his own throat feeling split in two as he merely stared on into Terry’s furious eyes.

Mickey turned sharply, stepping over the large shards of glass splashed over the floor. He felt cold, a shiver in his fingers and an ache in his tensed muscles. Terry’s gurgling could be heard from the front door as Mick opened it to face the harsh winter sky outside, looking away from his only blood relatives. “So your just going to leave.” Mandy spat, the anger evident in her voice as he kept his back to her.

He listened to the shuffle of chairs and the murmur of panic in the kitchen as he heard his own breathing rough and unrelenting. He was still alive. Even without Terry squeezing each beat of his heart, he could still live.

“How the fuck do you think you could be better than us?” Mandy shouted, her fingers coated in tacky metallic blood. “Milkovich’s always stay together, no matter what.” Her voice distraught, “Congratulations Mickey, your not a Milkovich anymore.” He swallowed thickly, “Your no one.”

The door slammed behind him as he kicked it shut, thumping his boots down the steps and trudging into the snow. His sister’s words were branded into his flesh, it ripped him apart. He could feel the anger settle into the pit of his stomach as he closed his eyes, stopping underneath the L.

He was haunted by the sight of Terry’s widened eyes and the burst of blood beneath his skin. In a way, he expected the glass shards would just be deflected, bouncing off his metal casing and ricochetting back into Mickey’s chest. He imaged him to be invincible, to just be a dangling meat puppet that would laugh at his son’s weak efforts.

It had felt like Mickey was on the other end of the glass bottle, he could feel the sharp material piercing past his skin and scratching at the back of his throat. He never imagined it could really happen. He had dreamed of standing up against Terry ever since he was a child.

The first time he ever witnessed Terry torture a man, he had found it terrifying. He stopped dreaming of murdering him, and instead dreamed of being on the other end of the knife. He could always see Terry’s hot blade carving into his brain and rewriting all his thoughts. It’s how he had managed to perfect his son, using fear to change his most basic instincts.

Mickey was his father’s son. He was a violent Milkovich that craved the taste of vengeance. He had become someone worse than Terry. He had become the devil that he dreamed of. He went beyond being the spitting image of his enemy.

He couldn’t even get his head cleared by the time he made it to the main street. His calves were burning with exertion and his eyes stinging with tears. He had to distract himself, had to stop seeing blood everywhere.

Silently his feet padded against the pavement as he neared a small cafe at the corner of the street. The name was familiar from somewhere, his heart thumped louder as he breathed in the icy air swarming around him. The warm glow of the cafe was luring as he started to slip his arms out of his jacket. He pushed the door open, as a bell rung emptily into the crowded ‘Patsy’s Pies’ cafe.

He was greeted by a smiling young man, his dark hair messed and sticking out at weird angles. He ushered the tattooed man to a seat at the back and shoved a menu underneath his nose. Mickey sighed out, he was dying for another smoke, but he was sure that his fingers were turning green. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging briefly on the ends before flicking his eyes over the large font.

A bouncing waiter was stood by his side, “What can I get you?” He asked with a fake smile pressed to his lips. Mickey muttered something about getting a coffee, before the young kid skipped on over to the kitchen.

Mickey let his head drop down to his chest, he could feel his chest squeezing in pain. His breath was shuddering as he lifted his head up, letting his eyes flick around the cafe before they caught onto long messy hair tied up by a hair band.

Chills slipped over his skin as he focused on her elegant figure. Her warm body was encased by a grey t-shirt, it showed off the detail of her toned muscles. He had ran his hands down her sides enough times to recognise her from behind. There was a small man flirting with her as he stood before her, his hands reaching out for hers as he smiled intently. She nodded absent-mindedly, as the man gestured enthusiastically about their topic.

A wave of nausea flooded his senses. He couldn’t do it. He shoved himself up to stand and grabbed his coat. He ducked his head as he tried to leave without Fiona noticing him. Guilt clung thickly to his chest like a cough that wouldn’t leave. He knew he had to avoid her, he wasn’t ready to see her again.

He had made it to the front door when his young waiter made a noise. “Excuse me sir!” He called out, drawing too much attention as Mick hurried outside into the freezing cold. He was purposefully running away. A moment later he could hear someone following closely on his heels.

“Mickey?” It shouldn’t be his name anymore. He didn’t choose it. His father did. But he still responds to it all the same.

With great reluctance he turned to face Fiona and her sweet frost bitten cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Mickey started, dampening the air between them with his dumb statement. He figure it would be easy to just say the words, rather than specify what exactly he had to be forgiven for.

She crossed her bare arms over her chest, protecting herself from the cold. “I was really worried for you.” She whispered, her sad eyes flickering over his dark features. “You never said goodbye to me. You never said anything to me.”

Ducking his head in defeat, he nodded stiffly. “I know. I fucked up.”

“No Mick.” She shook her head, stepping closer. He drew in a tight breath, looking up to meet her pained eyes. “You haven’t fucked anything up.” He wanted to smirk at that, wanted to take her home and show her Terry’s slit throat. “Just let me in for once. Stop hiding all your problems.”

Running a hand down his face, he sighed out deeply. “I can’t.” He murmured, his sister’s voice ringing deafeningly in his ears. He was no one.

She challenged the space between them, reaching out to place a soothing hand to his shoulder. “Come home with me?” She whispered quietly, afraid that he would run away if she spoke to loud.

Mick let his eyes slip closed, he didn’t want to look at her face when he said it. “Fiona-” She cut him off by quickly drawing him into a hug, her arms circling around his shoulders and holding him against her chest. Mickey flinched, he could feel her rapid heartbeat in between them, pushing blood around her body and heating her perfect tanned skin.

Awkwardly he unpinned his arms from his side, to hesitantly lay a hand against her hip. He hadn’t felt the warmth of another body in a very long time. He was too used to touching the cold skin of dead men. Her warm breath fanned out against his neck, the heat stirring inside him as he moved his other hand to her back, trying to keep her warm against the biting cold surrounding them. “I’ll ask to leave my shift early.” She murmured, lifting her head up to reach his blue eyes. She gave him a gentle smile.

He wet his lower lip, noticing how her eyes followed the movement. “No, it’s fine. I can wait if you want.” He caved in, tightening his hands around her. She inhaled his scent of old cigarettes and shrugged carelessly, leaning in closer.

“I don’t think I trust you to not runaway.” She replied sadly, gripping the collar of his shirt and tilting her chin up in invitation. He looked down at her pink lips, he knew they were warm, just like every other part of her body.

With a tug of his shirt she pulled him down, sealing their lips together as she tasted his ash sunken breath. He pressed his lips together tightly, feeling her hand trailing along his neck and slipping into his hair. It felt wrong, the sweet linger of her lips against his and the gentle way she caressed his shoulder. He didn’t deserve her.

Satisfied with his existence she stepped back, smiling softly and entwining their fingers together as she lead him back inside the cafe.

The young waiter urged Mickey to sit back down as he handed him the coffee, Fiona lingering by his side, shuffling plates between various tables. Mick let his head spin as he thought of Mandy’s shaking hands pushing tensely against her father’s drained throat. It was something that wouldn’t be easily forgiven or forgotten.

 


	9. Chapter Nine

 

By the time Fiona’s shift was finished, the rest of Mickey’s coffee was cold and staining the rim of the mug. He stood to his feet, letting her drag him to her warm pancake ridden house. They were silent on the walk to her door as she hesitantly released his arm to open the front door. It was late in the evening as they were greeted by a dark kitchen that creaked with unease. He shouldn’t be there. Memories of Ian pinned to the table had his heart squeezing uncomfortably. His hands clenched into fists as anger flooded over his muscles.

“Sorry it’s a mess.” She whispered embarrassedly, flicking on the lights and making her way over to the fridge. “Beer?” She offered.

Mickey’s stomach was already turning, but he accepted the poison anyway. He quickly let it sit at the pit of his empty stomach. She tried to casually clean away the dirty plates that were piled in the sink.

He didn’t know what to say to her, there were so many things that he should mention. His disappearance being a definite. Although there was just something so soothing about her domestic actions, her thin fingers scrubbing away at plates. It made Mickey content to watch her and forget about everything going wrong in his life.

There was something comforting about having nothing anymore. No responsibility, no regrets. No hopes, no failures. No fucking energy. No family. He leant back against the kitchen table, resting the bottle at his lips and tipping his head back. He let his thoughts drift.

He thought back to Terry’s wide gaping eyes, and his soft breath escaping his lungs. Mickey wished he had his second hand free. If he did, he imagined burying it within the open wound and prying Terry’s fat skin away. He would expose his calloused heart, overshadowed by his swollen lungs.

He would be drenched in Terry’s blood, up to his elbow s. R eaching deep inside and pulling out all the human things that lived within the monster of a man. He still can’t imagine Terry dying though, he would just remain sitting, his glaring eyes all but fuming in rage.

Mickey would just have to do a better job to kill Terry next time .

The man was stumbled out of his thoughts by Fiona’s warm hand resting on his shoulder, he flinched, pushing to stand away from her. The girl caught his wild eyes, “You alright Mick?” She questioned, slowly letting her hand fall down to her side.

He shrugged, knowing he looked like a mess, and that there was no point providing any verbal conformation. She bit her lip nervously looking away, as her soft dark hair slid over her shoulder, creating a dark curtain between them. He couldn’t read her eyes like this. Couldn’t understand all the doubts passing through her mind. He took a firm step closer, tightening his fist in her hair and shoving it to the back of her head. The action tilted her head up to face him, stretching out her neck. Her wide brown eyes instantly looked up to his, a soft gasp of confusion falling from her lips. “I’m not working at the moment, Fiona.” He stated, forcing his hand to release the thick strands of her hair with trembling fingers . He cleared his throat, feeling cold around his chest as he blinked his eyes up to her sad ones.

“That’s okay.” She whispered quietly, unsure of what to do. Her body was breaking into chills at the way that Mickey’s dead eyes stared back into hers.

He grunted in acknowledgement , polishing off his beer and setting it on the kitchen bench. “I’m going to sleep.” He said taking a step towards the stairs. Fiona nodded numbly, watching as her boyfriend climbed the steps of her family home. Letting him go upstairs to be closer towards her younger brothers and sister. She silently recycled the bottle before breathing in deeply and following him up the stairs.

Mickey’s was lying on the bed with his back facing towards Fiona as she gently closed the bedroom door behind her. She slipped out of her clothes, taking in Mickey’s still clothed form. She kicked her shoes off, noticing Mickey’s own tossed carelessly towards the dresser. Cautiously Fiona crawled under the covers next to her returned boyfriend, she decided to face away from him as she pulled the blankets up into her bare chest.

At some point in the night Fiona awoke to the thick stench of cigarettes as she noticed Mickey breathing in the fumes, with his back leant against the headboard. She pursed her lips and purposefully tried to fall asleep, ignoring all her worried thoughts.

Mickey couldn’t sleep, he could still feel the skin of Terry’s neck giving way each time he closed his eyes. Instead he distracted himself with aimless violent thoughts. The smoke filling his lungs was clearing his head, it made things easy to see as he focused on the traumatising work Terry forced him to do.

He thought of Mandy sitting at home each day, and working the corner each night. There was something cruel that buried inside her father, the same monster that targeted curious men. Mickey sighed, rolling his head against the wall. He could feel his angry heartbeat thrumming through his veins. It was so strong and punctual, it hadn’t forgotten him, even if he had.

With stiff legs he stood his feet, opening the bedroom and quietly making his way into the kitchen. He helped himself to the six-pack of beers he saw Fiona open earlier. With the cool drink in his hot hand he took a seat at the kitchen table. He placed it before him, watching the wet droplets gather against the table around the curve of the bottle. He focused on the brown glass and imagined it shattered into shards. There were too many broken bottles. Bottles lost with Ian and others speared into saggy neck. He figured the bottle would kill him. Whether it was buried into his brain or drowning his liver.

At 6am the house erupted into an orchestra of alarms and whines. Fiona’s siblings moved around like breaths, circulating around the slumped Mickey who leant over the kitchen table like a cancer . His girlfriend was busy in the kitchen making pancakes and balancing a crying Liam over her hip. He observed them all, trying to understand how they worked as a family.

With Carl and Debbie shuffled out the door, Fiona took a deep breath of relief, leaving the fed Liam at the table with Mickey as she went to wake up the rest of her brothers.

Mickey stood from the table, grabbing another beer from the fridge, uncapping it and drenching the pit of his stomach. Fiona came downstairs in front of a moody Lip and a weary Ian. “Quick or you’re going to be late.” She urged, serving them out pancakes and rushing them along.

Ian’s green eyes instantly noticed the dark figure crowding their kitchen table. Silently Mickey stood, hating Ian’s burning curious eyes that slipped over him. He moved into the lounge room, kicking his feet up and switching on the television instead .

Mickey could just hear the conversation inside the kitchen from his state on the couch.

Ian was skeptical, he firmly planted his arms on the kitchen bench glaring at his sister. “When did he come back?” He asked, intently watching Fiona’s gestures.

“He visited my work last night.” She whispered, passing Lip a plate, and avoiding the redheads stern eyes.

Ian sucked in a deep breath, he tried to ignore the memory of Mickey’s solemn eyes as he stepped into the ‘Kash and Grab’ the other night. There was something itching underneath the boy’s skin as he wondered whether there was something about Mickey meeting with him before hand that caused him to see Fiona. After he had the thought, he felt like a naive git. He kept quiet, taking the plate that his sister shoved under his nose as he sat on the edge of the table. He cut into the pancake and took a bite, as he chewed he threw a quick look into the lounge room. Catching sight of Mickey sinking into the couch with his head hanging heavily.

“ Right, hurry up and get out. You’ll be late.” Fiona muttered, dropping the fry pan into the sink and wiping down the bench.

Ian could already tell the difference with Fiona having Mickey back in her life. She had this glow about her, it had the boy’s stomach tightening uncomfortably as he realised he was burning with a sense of jealously. He hated the feeling and kicked himself back from the table, shucking his school bag over his shoulder. He would always want what was best for his sister.

It didn’t take long for the kitchen to fall silent as Ian, Liam and Lip rushed out in the cold morning. Fiona finished tidying up the kitchen before slipping into the lounge room. Mickey blended into the Gallagher household, his blue eyes washed out and faded as he sat wasted watching the tv .

“ You got any plans today?” Fiona wondered, letting her fingers tease her exposed thigh where her shorts were cut off. Mickey cleared his throat, rolling his head to meet her cheeky brown eyes. He was too tired to stop his eyes from dropping down to her slender fingers that skated over her smooth skin, she broke into a big grin misreading his lazy eyes. “I’ve missed you Mick.” She whispered, taking a few strong steps before she straddled him over the couch.

He gave her a questionable look, not feeling anything stirring in his gut. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning closer to press a chastise kiss to his cheek. She hummed softly, lowering her hips to rest against Mickey’s as she curled her fingers into his dark hair. He tilted his head down, taking in a short breath. “I don’t think I can...” He mumbled silently, his fingers twitching with disappointment in himself.

“What’s this baby?” She whispered, running her hand through his hair and grinding her hips back down. She was getting worked up, her skin tingling as she could feel the warmth from Mickey’s body and taste the beer over his lips.

He gripped her hips, stalling her movements as he looked up, his piecing blue eyes jarred with pain. “ It been a while.” He stated, feeling his neck burn red with embarrassment.

Frowning in confusion, Fiona cupped his jaw aligning their mouths as she pushed them together. Her soft lips slid against his, urging him to respond. Hesitantly her tongue licked along his bottom lip, coercing them to open. Mickey shut his eyes, trying his hardest to find the passion. He focused on the warm sensations and shared breath between them. But he couldn’t feel it past the thick guilt swamping his stomach. “I can’t Fiona.” He spat, pushing back on her shoulder and breaking the kiss.

She gave him an encouraging smile, tracing her hands down his chest. “Lemme’ try something different.” She insisted, gripping his jeans and yanking down the zip. He screwed his eyes shut, clenching his fist by his side. Her warm hand wrapped around his dick, giving it a few tugs before bringing it out between them.

They both stared down at his flaccid penis. “Is it me?” She breathed out brokenly, doubt denting her brow.

“Fuck, no Fiona.” He murmured, running a hand down his face. “I don’t fucking know what’s happened.”

She continued to stroke him intently, twisting at the tip and tightening at the base. Mickey felt ashamed as he ducked his head to his chest, hearing the dry skin on skin contact between them . “ Just stop Fiona, it won’t work.”

With a grumble she stood to her feet, letting go of his dick and pushing down her flimsy shorts instead. She quickly clambered over him again. She was tensed, her body desperate for release as she returned her hand to his dick. She shifted her hips up, before she teased her entrance with his frenulum, pushing between the folds and causing her breath to hitch.

Mickey didn’t know where to stare, he couldn’t look down at his soft dick being rubbed along her clit, or look up at her breasts and delicate lips. He shut his eyes, throwing his head back against the couch and trying to fend off thoughts of red welts seeping from thick cuts. “ Oh Mick.” She moaned, catching his shoulder and bearing down against him. He was uncomfortable, the tight grip she had on his dick was becoming painful as she neared her orgasm.

Her noises became louder and more erratic, her other hand moved to grip her breast. Mickey ignored the stinging pain in his dick as the back of his eyelids were drenched in red. It pooled thickly, getting caught in his throat as he was forced to swallowed the sludge of crimson. He couldn’t breath. Couldn’t smell or taste anything over the biting metallic tang of blood.

“ Mickey!” She cried, a thin veil of sweat coating her tensed muscles.

The man could see Sam’s beaten body, the swell of his chest and the defined muscles that lingered underneath his skin. Mick could still feel the tight push of his dick in his arse, and the hot feeling of his hands tracing over his back. He could feel Ian’s warm body pressed along his, and the rush of his breath over his neck and the challenge in his green eyes.

Her shaking fingers hurriedly rubbed along her clit, forcing her back to arch as she curved into the pleasure building up within her body.

He craved the feeling of stubble tracing over his inner thigh, it had Mick’s dick twitching in interest . But the thought was quickly followed through with Sam’s crumpled body broken apart into threes. The snap of his bones ringing out loudly within Mickey’s tortured mind. He squeezed his eyes tightly, feeling Terry’s skin give away underneath the sharp push of glass.

Fiona came, her head thrown back as she released his dick, working herself through it with her well-practiced hands. She gave him a wide smile, wiping her slick fingers over her shirt. She folded herself over his chest, bringing him into a hug as his limp dick rested against his thigh.

“ Thanks Mickey, I really needed that.” She mumbled shyly, “Did you…?” She didn’t know what she was asking, she wanted to know that she hadn’t just taken advantage of him because of her overactive hormones.

He opened his eyes, patting a hand to her shoulder. “It’s fine.” He muttered.

She lifted her pretty head, her cautious eyes finding his. “I’ve got work in the afternoon.” She wet her lip, “I’m happy to spend the rest of my morning to bring you to orgasm.” She offered, finding herself shivering with excitement at the idea.

Smirking he shook his head, “Better things to do in the day.” He mumbled, tucking himself back in his pants and zipping up as much as he could with her body still bent over his. “ I’m gonna’ jump in the shower.” He gave her an acquainted smile before pushing lightly at her shoulders to stand himself up.

“Is that an invitation?” She wondered seductively.

Awkwardly he shrugged his shoulder, gesturing back upstairs before turning and taking the steps two at a time. Fiona remained sat at the couch, staring at the flickering pictures on the screen. She sighed deeply, tangling her hands through her hair as she tugged roughly on the dark strands. She couldn’t work him out, something had happened between them. Something that forced him away and kept him restrained. With a dulled effort she pulled her shorts back on and switched the tv off. She headed up the stairs, but instead of continuing towards the bathroom she turned into her bedroom.

She stripped her clothes, fishing through her cupboards and pulling out a pair of jeans and a singlet. Her legs still felt a bit wobbly after she came, it had flooded her head with pleasure and then just dissolved into shame. She felt guilty for forcing him to bring her to climax. She was just so desperate for release, she hadn’t been with anyone since Mickey and didn’t want to sleep around.

There was something missing in Mickey’s eyes, something that had been stolen. She longed for his once playful side, that would wrap his arms around her and constantly hold her close. She wondered briefly whether he had met someone else, had fallen in love and lost her. Merely returning back to Fiona to avoid being lonely . She s lumped against the bed, rolling to her side and facing away from the door. Lying in the same spot Mickey did last night.

Fiona had fallen aimlessly in love with Mickey, and naively thought he felt the same way. Perhaps a Milkovich could have fallen in love. But Mickey wasn’t one anymore.

He stood still under neath the cold spray of water as he bathed in his recurring thought of drowning himself. He wished he could have been released as a Milkovich without needing to hurt them. But the only way to be freed is to attack, to silence and to install fear. Mickey became worse than any of them. Milkovich’s wouldn’t dare hurt each other, they were a messed up, yet protective family. So who did that make Mickey?

-

Fiona left for work, her eyes heavy as she pressed a soft kiss to Mickey’s forehead. The man was back at the kitchen table, purposefully avoiding her once he found her curled up on herself. He couldn’t face the disappointment in her face as he took out another beer. It dulled his senses, letting his thoughts drift.

The gloomy clouds outside casted elongated shadows that snuck between the table legs. Mickey normally thought of the Gallagher house as a hot blazing oven that always kept him warm. But with no one around and with his cold heartless heart it became freezing. He felt like he only ever pushed people away, especially the ones that cared for him.

No matter how many times Mickey showered, he still stunk. He hadn’t grabbed any clothes and was stuck in his jeans and daggy shirt. He didn’t have a job anymore, and nothing saved up. He was a freeloader, only causing Fiona more agony by returning. He shouldn’t have stepped inside the cafe. He shouldn’t have step inside the ‘Kash and Grab’. He shouldn’t have looked up into those pretty green eyes and felt an inapt sense of hope.

Mick shoved himself to stand up from the table, his eyes slipping sadly over pancake kitchen. He breathed in the homely scent, trying to remember it forever. He felt his eyes slipping shut and for the first time his thoughts were n’t scattered with death . Instead he saw Fiona’s graceful smile and the families keen stomachs for pancakes. He felt his fingers tingle, he wanted to stay, but he didn’t deserve it. He had been selfish enough in his life, and he didn’t need to be the Gallagher’s parasite.

He turned away from the kitchen, facing the backdoor. He opened his eyes, taking in the peeling paint and rusted nails. He couldn’t come back again. It was a mistake the first time and he wouldn’t be able to see Fiona’s disappointed eyes again. He was broken, he couldn’t offer her sex or love. He couldn’t offer anyone anything. He was nothing to them. He was nothing to himself.

Twisting the handle he took a deep breath, feeling it expand his lungs, he desperately craved another cigarette. He swung the door open, hurriedly stepping out in to the frost bitten sun. Lifting his head up his blue eyes narrowed onto curious green. His stomach dropped, his heart skipping a beat and his feet shuffling to a stop. “Where are you going?”

Mickey frowned, feeling his whole body crumple, he couldn’t fight him. He couldn’t cause him anymore pain. “ I can’t Ian.” Mick whispered, looking away at the dark ice gathering along the steps.

The boy took a step forward, his freckled arm coming into view as he pushed a hand to Mick’s chest. “You can’t runaway again. You can’t do that to Fiona.” He murmured, his hand only pushing enough to cause Mick to take a step back. “Not again.” H is hand stayed pressed against his chest, the cold air nipping over their cheeks and stirring goosebumps along Ian’s arm.

“It’s better I stay away.” Mick cleared his throat, finding it hard to speak with Ian’s hand resting so close to his non-existent heart. “I’ll only ever disappoint.”

Suddenly Ian’s other hand cupped Mick’s jaw, tilting his head up as his green eyes stared determinedly at the man. “ The only way you’ll ever disappoint us is by giving up.” He murmured, his soft lips shivering from the cold as they formed around the words.

Mick parted his lips to speak, taking in a breath only to find his lungs squeezed uncomfortably tight. He stared at the boy, loosing his voice and loosing his mind. He was trapped by the warm touch of his hands, and by the care blossoming in his eyes. His heart was beating rapidly, he was worried that Ian could feel it underneath the thin material of his shirt. Mick wanted to reach out and touch the boy, wanted to bring him close and taste his lips.

Ian stepped closer, letting his hand fall as their chests brushed together. Mickey’s jaw tensed in Ian’s soft hand as he felt his breath stutter. The boy’s eyes dipped to Mick’s mouth , his pink tongue wetting his lower lip absent-mindedly. Mickey felt something clear pushing into his heart, it was cleansing the blood circulating around his soul. It was beautiful and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning closer, capturing Ian’s wide eyes and tasting his breath on the boy’s soft lips.

“I’m not gay Ian.” He bit out.

A harsh pole sliced between them both, cutting through the layers of their skin and spearing deep inside both their hearts. 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

 

It felt like sawing down something so delicate. Like using a gun to chip away nail polish. Like driving a fist into someone’s smile to shut them up.

Mick felt like he had gutted a singing bird, carving his ruthless thoughts inside the boy’s soul. Like he had stained Ian with his own fears. But he couldn’t stop the words being coughed out of his parted and kiss-awaiting lips.

Ian’s face only flashed briefly with hurt, before straightening up into defence. Mick still felt the bitter sting of his words on his tongue, it weighted down his muscles and made his chest constrict uncomfortably. He hated himself even more, wishing he could just runaway from their devoted household.

“Get the fuck out of my way.” Mickey said, his eyes narrowed to the ground over Ian’s stiff shoulder.

The red head frowned, taking a single step back but keeping the man pinned with his eyes. “Why do you always run like a coward.” Ian sneered, attempting to ignore the bittersweet punch in his gut from Mick’s harsh statement. Ian didn’t want to think about his sister falling in love with this homophobic fuck. Especially after he had felt him pressed up against his chest, felt the air leave his lungs and endured the sting of his fists.

Mickey shoved him back, nudging past him and thundering down the steps. Ian staggered to the side, but moved quick as he lunged after the man, catching his shoulders and shoving him to the ground.

The cold ice stung underneath Mickey’s cheek as he hit the frosted grass. “Fuck.” He gasped, his chest aching with the sturdy contact to the ground. Mickey shoved himself up to stand, turning and flicking his middle finger to Ian. “What the actual fuc-”

Ian tackled him once again, flipping him on his back as he landed with a thud. “Stay. You can’t leave.” Ian urged, holding him down with one hand and trying not to touch him too much in fear of looking even gayer than he was.

“I’m fucking leaving Ian.” Mick insisted, thrashing underneath the young man’s hold. “Get your gay ass off of me!”

His words hit Ian like a swinging axe, there are only so many bind of muscle keeping his heart in place, before it would be broken. “Not for me. For Fiona.” The boy murmured, more from himself than for Mick’s sake.

The soft dry scrap of Mickey’s warm hand curling around Ian’s wrist had the boy flinching with unease. He felt disorientated by the older man’s almost gentle caress, mixed with the bitterness in his blue eyes. Mickey’s head was swimming, his thoughts drowning around him and the only life raft he could see was staring at him wide frightened green eyes. Nervously he lowered his hand to entwine his fingers with the curious boy’s.

With his other hand coiled up tightly into a fist, Mickey swung a punch to the side of the boy’s head. Limply, Ian flopped to the ground.

-

The light flickered before Ian’s eyes, the blistering sun searing into his faint green pigment. “Ian. Ian.” A soft familiar voice whispered his name. Blinking his eyes open again, the young boy re-focused on the dark blur before him as it blended into the caring smile of his sister. “Thank god.” Fiona gasped, wrapping him in her arms.

“Wha-” He cleared his throat, his voice sounding like gravel. “What happened?”

His sister gave him a reassuring smile, “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out. Okay?” She brushed his messy red hair from his forehead. “Mickey found you about an hour ago, you were just lying out on the grass. I’m surprised you didn’t freeze a nut off.”

“Mick?” Ian asked, remembering the frosted snow in his dark hair and the stark blue of his eyes.

There was movement to Ian’s side, causing the boy to flinch and flick his head to see. A sharp sting of pain nagged down his spine, causing him to cringe. “Don’t move! You silly duck.” Fiona chastised. “Come over here so he can see you.”

There were a few steps of boots before a dark figure stood before Ian. Hands shoved in pockets, and lips pressed tight. Mickey frowned at the sight of Ian’s bruising skull, his skin littered with frost bite and his chin cut from the ice.

“Maybe he should see a doctor?” Fiona whispered to her boyfriend, placing a hand to his jacket as she kept her other one near Ian’s face. She truly was the divide between them.

Blue eyes flicked back to green, “His fine.” He muttered before stepping back and out of the room.

Fiona sighed, taking Ian’s hand and looking back at him. “You feeling better?”

Stiffly Ian nodded his head, “Just a bit woozy.”

Feeling comforted by Ian’s soft smile, Fiona stood up. She squeezed her brother’s hand once more before stepping out of the room to find her grumpy boyfriend.

Mickey hadn’t said much once Fiona got home to find Ian passed out in their bed. Mick was cradling his head in his hands when she walked in, her fingers already slipping underneath the waistband of her underpants. Before she stopped at the sight of Ian’s sleeping figure.

Mick had been different lately, very short tempered and unfocused. She was worried about what was going through his head. She knew that something had changed, but couldn’t figure out what it was.

She had her hands on her hips, ready to demand a reason from Mick when she then noticed the dark welt forming on the side of Ian’s head. She dropped to her knees, instantly checking her brother’s breathing.

It wasn’t the first time that Ian had come home with bruises, it was a fairly regular occurrence. But she had never had him delivered home passed out. It frightened her to think that someone could cause him so much pain. She didn’t even realise that she was crying until she saw a wet droplet land against Ian’s cheek.

She made her way into the kitchen finding Mickey folded into a seat, where she had left him this morning. “You okay?” She asked, running a hand along his broad shoulders. She found the feeling of his warm back reassuring as she leaned against his side.

“Yep.” He mumbled distractly, his fingers twitching for either a cigarette or another beer.

Her perfume soaked into his brain, making him annoyed at its potency. “I’m really worried about Ian. It’s not the first time his been bruised like that. But never that bad.” She nuzzled into his neck, warming up her cold nose against his skin, “I think his in trouble.”

Mickey shifted away from Fiona’s touch, deciding on a cigarette as he shuffled the packet out of his pocket. “Can I light it in here?” He asked, not reaching her eyes.

She held her breath, looking down at his hands. “Uh, maybe just one.” She caved, holding onto the man tighter.

He quickly lit up the cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting his eyes fall closed. “He normally would call me if there’s a problem.” Fiona continued, “But his never mentioned whose causing him all this trouble, he barely talks to me anymore. I guess his just growing up.”

The stench of nicotine crowded around them, flooding Mickey’s lungs with sweet poison and numbing the fear coursing through his veins. “He loves you Fiona.” Mickey supplied, gnawing at the end of the smoke in between his teeth.

She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a tight hug. “Your too sweet.” She mumbled against his ear, dropping a kiss to his cheek.

-

Later that night, Ian woke up properly and refused to tell Fiona what had happened. Mickey always stood in the corner listening, but avoiding the boy’s desperate gaze.

Mick could tell from the burning in Ian’s green eyes that he remembered exactly who landed the punch to the side of his head, but the teeth that sunk into his bottom lip told Mickey that he wouldn’t dare tell a soul.

Fiona was pissed about that and wouldn’t shut up.

The bed between them was cold, as Mick rested on his back, with his arm folded behind his head. “He doesn’t trust me. What I am even supposed to do. There’s nothing I can do to stop some dickhead beating up my brother. But I could at least give him advice. Warn him to stay away from them.”

“Fiona stop. There’s nothing you can do. He just needs to figure it out on his own.” Mick urged, hoping to finally get some sleep.

She sighed, flopping back against the bed and reaching a hand out, seeking Mickey’s comfort. “I just feel so helpless, and terrified.”

“It’s gonna’ be okay.” He reassured, she curled up against his body, stroking his chest.

She nuzzled into his body, breathing in his scent and slipping her leg between his. “Mickey.” She said softly, leaning above him to meet his eyes. With sleep addled haziness, he looked up at her. Catching sight of the tiredness draining away in her features and the concern etched underneath her soft brown eyes. He found it hard to keep his eyes open any longer, letting them fall shut. “I think I’m in love with you Mick Milkovich.”

Blissfully, everything fell silent.

Behind Mickey’s closed eyes he could relax and let his thoughts escape. He could think of their time together only a few minutes before everything was said. He could think about the time when they first met. Or he could think about the time before he even knew her.

He was disrupted by the slight tremor in her small hand as it rested near his heart. With regret he opened his eyes, instantly being caught by her nervous smile. Her eyes wide and waiting for his return of affection.

There were no words he could say to her.

Instead he wrapped an arm behind her neck and brought her down. His hand tightened over her jaw, tilting her head towards his. Quickly, he bit his lips against hers. A small disappointed gasp was all that he heard before she started to become compliant underneath his touch. He held her close, tasting the hesitance in her mouth. The sting of her soft words still burning unanswered between them.

Mickey couldn’t fall asleep that night. The weight of Fiona against him had him itching to move away. He couldn’t stop thinking about his brief chance to escape that afternoon, right before Ian had to step in and ruin everything. That kid was too stubborn.

He remembered the surprised look in the boy’s green eyes when his hand curled around his wrist. The soft skin dented underneath his fingertips. He wanted to tug him closer, have his thighs straddling his hips. To feel him pressed against his chest. The reassuring weight of someone holding him down. Someone wanting him to stay.

Soft lips pressed at the base of Mickey’s neck, as warm hands circled around his waist and pulled him in closer. The man’s breath feeling hot where it fanned across his shoulders. Mick’s hands were pressed against the door in front of him, keeping it shut. The man behind him groaned softly, causing tingles to shoot down his spine.

The cold fingers splayed over his heart. Mickey’s chest was rising heavily, he was sure that the man behind him could feel his racing heart. They chuckled softly, nipping at his ear. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” They whispered, tasting his skin.

Mickey removed a hand from the door to grip the arm wrapped around his stomach, he stared down at the pale skin. Mick dug his nails into their arm briefly as the man behind him scrapped his teeth over his shoulder.

The warmth felt intoxicating, Mickey couldn’t hold his head upright anymore, instead he let it fall back against the man’s shoulder. Another chuckled was breathed into his ear.

Thick kisses were pushed into his skin, trailing down his neck and down his shoulder. Then the man’s teasing tongue dragged along his flesh. Falling down his back and curving around his ribs. Mickey was breathless, his whole body shaking from the touch. He couldn’t contain his soft moans any longer.

A fist tightened around Mick’s cock, stroking him roughly. The dark haired man bit back a cry. He could feel an intrusion from behind, he tried to spread his legs wider. The man chuckled behind him once more, lining his dripping dick at his entrance. “Stay Mickey.” They whispered, slowly pushing inside Mick’s arse.

The dark haired man groaned loudly, falling forward and placing both hands on the door to push back onto the warm cock buried deep inside him.

Mickey stared at his hands, the tattoo scarred into his skin was glaring angrily back at him. Like the eyes of Terry, staring into his soul. Mick screwed his eyes shut, thrusting harshly back onto the cock, trying to forget the gush of blood underneath his fingers as he sawed into Terry’s thick throat.

The thick cock was swelling inside him, pulsating and already oozing cum. Mickey moaned at the sensation, gently opening his eyes as the man’s freckled and pale hands ran up his extended arms, before his fingers covered Mick’s own. The stranger’s skin dissolved into Mickey’s, seeping along the thick sketch of black ink. The skin covering his mistakes. “I’m not gay.” They stated over his shoulder.

Mickey couldn’t breath, he was choking. A metallic taste stung the back of his mouth. He needed to vomit. He tried to remove his hands from the door. But they were trapped underneath the stranger’s. He felt the skin of his throat seperate. Splitting apart and shredding to allow blood to coat the front of his bare chest.

He was coughing, trying to suck in as much air as he could. The stranger moaned against him, “Not for me. For Fiona.”

Mickey froze, his chest halting as he fought the overwhelming need to breathe. “Ian.”

The man chuckled again, moving his hands down Mickey’s arm and along to his shoulders. He spun him around, shoving Mick against the door.

Ian stared at him, his red hair messed and sticking up in an oddly cute way. His once cheerfully green eyes were narrowed with fear.

Mickey couldn’t look away from his saddened face, he was hiding something. He wanted things to be okay. He didn’t want this though.

The dark haired man reached out, his fingertips brushing against Ian’s muscular chest, feeling the thrum of his heart beating underneath his pale flesh. Where he touched the skin seemed to blister, flaking and drooping. Mickey instantly yanked his hand away, taking in the sight of Ian’s burnt chest.

Ian frowned and stared down at the scars. He then ran his own finger along the burns, picking at the peeled skin. Mickey could only watch as the boy shredded his skin off, clawing his nails into the wound and tugging thick strands of flesh away. Tearing up the fine and unmarred skin of his stomach. “Stop Ian!” Mickey begged.

He couldn’t watch the boy destroy himself anymore. He threw himself forward, yanking Ian’s hands back as they slipped free from his hold. Ian’s hands dropped to the floor, landing with a wet thump. The end of his arm severed.

Ian frowned at Mickey, clawing at his chest with the stubs of his arms. “Stop Ian, please. Stop!” The meat seared loudly between them, Mickey wanted to stop him from hurting himself, but he couldn’t without causing his skin to melt off. “Fuck.” He gasped, as he saw Ian’s ribcage emerge from the burnt flesh.

“Why not slit my throat Mick. Come on.” The boy jeered, his heart beat ringing out loudly in the dark room.

Mickey shook his head, his whole body thrumming with stress. “Stop it!” He shouted, thrashing violently as he gripped Ian’s shoulders. The boy smirked, as his torso broke apart, and his heart slipped free.

Mickey caught it before it hit the floor.

The red muscle was beating in his palm, thumping steadily. Mickey met Ian’s eyes as the boy wobbled on his feet, he grinned, showing off his teeth. Blood seeped in between his gums, as a trial of red circled his neck. The skin stretched as Ian tilted his head back, bursting the thin skin and causing blood to gush from the cut of his throat.

Mickey threw himself forward, forcing his eyes open.

Two hands clamped over his shoulders, he twisted to push them off. “Babe, what’s wrong?” Fiona asked, her gentle hands pressing his shoulders as she tried to steady him.

Mickey blinked heavily, staring down his hands and trying to calm his breathing. He threw a look around the room, taking in the familiar sight of Fiona’s belongings. He wanted to feel safe in her arms, wanted to feel reassured by her presence sitting next to him. But he kept having this nagging feeling that he no longer belonged anywhere.

“Nothin’” He muttered, tossing the covers back and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

She whined, “Come on Mick, just tell me.”

“Fuck off, just leave me alone Fiona.” He spat, shoving himself up and storming out of the room.

She stared after him, feeling lost in their tiny room.

The beer was sweating in his hot hand, Mickey had been leant against the kitchen counter for only a few minutes. He needed a break, he needed to keep himself distracted. His mind was racing with the remnants of the dream, with thoughts of Ian getting hurt. The memories were so vivid that he could almost feel the fire underneath his nails. It had felt so real; the feeling of loss.

He climbed the Gallagher household’s stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible to keep Fiona in her room. He didn’t want to start thinking about what he had said to her. He could only worry about Ian right now. He crossed the hallway, pushing gently on the boy’s bedroom door.

The moonlight lit up his room, casting shadows across the floor. Mickey quickly manoeuvred his way inside the room, pushing the door closed to reduce the amount of light let in from the hallway. He knew the room held three; Ian, Carl and Liam. He scanned over the beds, finding Liam fast asleep and Carl’s bed empty. He then easily found Ian, his sheet was shuffled low around his hips and his chest was laid bare. Mickey focused on the soft curve of his unmarred torso, looking over the place where he knew a heart was buried beneath his skin.

After a moment of staring at his softly sleeping form, Mickey left. He felt like an idiot for having such a stupid dream. He also felt ashamed because he was pretty sure that there was a sticky dryness in the front of his underpants.

On his way out, he grabbed another beer from the fridge. He slipped on his muddy boots on and jacket before marching out into the cold air. He didn’t care that he was freezing, he needed to be out of that house. He was just a shadow over them, he couldn’t ever bring them anything but pain.

His fingers got so numb that he was sure they would drop off from frostbite. He wrapped his arms around himself, dropping his arse onto the dirt and leaning back against a concrete pillar.

He couldn’t get Ian’s green eyes out of his head. Thinking about his hot breath fanning against his neck was enough to stir a warm feeling low in his gut again. Mickey felt guilty for his thoughts. He had crushed Ian’s heart in front of his very eyes by telling him a lie. He then went ahead and threw a punch at him. Mickey was bad news. He was nothing but a disaster.

Fiona’s soft smile was barely comforting anymore, especially after she confessed to love him. He took a wide swig of his beer, knowing that he would never be able to say it back to her. The words have just never existed in his life.

The first flecks of sunrise were appearing from between the tumbling houses. Warm orange touched his skin as he leaned his head back against the beam. He had to clear his mind, he had to forget the pain and fear that laced his every step. He needed something worth living for in his life.

“Mickey? What the fuck are you doing here?”

The dark haired man let his head slump forward as he blinked against the blinding sun.

 


End file.
